UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


2  *r£     {** 


QUEEN    ANNE 
AND   HER   COURT 


r    1 

nqj  trie  Jadu  cAnn 
tx  >s— ' 


•//'//'/.'.I.       '// 


.      ///  //,' 


QUEEN  ANNE 

AND     HER     COURT 


P.   F.    WILLIAM    RYAN 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOL.  I 


NEW    YORK 

E.   P.    BUTTON   &   COMPANY 
1909 


PRINTED  IN   GREAT  BRITAIN 


495 
9 

.  / 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

VOL.   I 
THE  LADY  ANNE,     (#y  Str  Peter  Lely)  •    Photogravure  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

EDWARD  HYDE,  FIRST  EARL  OP  CLARENDON  ....  6 

ANNE  HYDE,  DUCHESS  OF  YORK 16 

JAMES  SCOTT,  DUKE  OF  MONMOUTH 38 

LADY  HENRIETTA  WKNTWORTH 40 

PRINCESS  ANNE  IN  EARLY  YOUTH 48 

JOHN     SHEFFIELD,     EARL    OF     MULGRAVE,     AND     DUKE     OF 

BUCKINGHAMSHIRE 62 

MADAME  DE  MAINTBNON         .......  70 

LOUISE  DE  QUEROUAILLE,  DUCHESS  OF  PORTSMOUTH         .         .  82 

ft 

LADY  ISABKLLE  OF  YORK 90 

5 

ARABELLA  CHURCHILL ,                 .  104 

FRANCES  JENNINGS,  DUCHESS  OF  TYRCONNEL  .         .         .  134 

ANNE  AS  PRINCESS  ROYAL      .         .         .         .         ,         .         .  140 

LAWRENCE  HYDE,  EARL  OF  ROCHESTER  .....  158 

DICK  TALBOT,  DUKE  OF  TYHCONNEL 166 

SARAH    JENNINGS,    LADY    CHURCHILL    (LATER     DUCHESS    OF 

MARLBOROUGH)         .        .        .        .                 .         .         .  192 

WILLIAM  III 236 

JAMES  II.        .                                              ...  268 
O 

CHARLES  MONTAGUE,  EARL  OF  HALIFAX          ....  290 

' 

5     QUEEN  MARY  II -t        .                          .  296 

ANNE  AND  HER  SON,  WILLIAM,  DUKE  OF  GLOUCESTER  .         .  306 

WILLIAM,  DUKE  OF  GLOUCESTER     ....  372 


•428765 


Queen   Anne   and   Her   Court 


CHAPTER  I 

of  the  quaintest  stories  in  mediaeval  lore 
traces  in  rather  wayward  allegory  that 
chapter  in  the  lives  of  James,  Duke  of  York,  and 
Anne  Hyde,  which  closed  with  the  secret  of 
their  marriage  being  unveiled. 

Young  Bertram  of  Roussillon  was  a  ward  of 
the  King  of  France,  and  high  in  the  favour 
of  His  Majesty.  Because  of  his  father's  death, 
he  was  summoned  in  early  boyhood  to  Court, 
and  soon  its  distractions  effaced  the  memory  of 
little  Giletta,  who  had  been  his  playfellow. 
Some  years  passed,  and  the  news  trickled  down 
from  the  town  to  the  country  that  the  King  was 
stricken  with  a  painful  illness  which  baffled  all 
his  physicians.  An  inspiration  flashed  upon 
Giletta,  now  an  orphan.  Hastening  to  Paris, 
she  obtained  an  audience  of  the  monarch,  and 
so  won  upon  him  by  her  beauty  and  eloquence 
that  her  petition  to  be  made  his  physician  for 

VOL.    I  B 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  brief  space  was  granted.  Employing  a  formula 
left  by  her  learned  father,  she  restored  His 
Majesty  to  health,  and  then  for  her  fee  she 
craved  the  hand  of  Count  Bertram.  The  Court 
was  aghast.  Was  its  darling  to  be  condemned 
to  the  arms  of  this  impudent  baggage  ?  Saint 
Denis  and  the  whole  calendar  of  saints  avert  it ! 
But  oaths  and  orisons  were  in  vain.  The  King 
was  inflexible ;  and  with  the  blessing  of  the 
Church,  to  the  chagrin  of  all  the  great  ladies, 
Giletta  became  Countess  of  Roussillon. 

Her  happiness  was  only  the  beginning  of  her 
sorrows,  for  the  Count  left  his  bride  alone  in 
the  chateau  of  Roussillon,  while  he  wandered 
through  Southern  Italy  disconsolate  for  his 
freedom.  She  had  now  to  reawaken  the  love 
that  was  hers  in  childhood,  before  Bertram  had 
been  spoilt  by  Court  dames.  By  much  patience 
and  courage,  and  a  little  guile  in  season,  the 
Countess  won  her  lord  to  his  allegiance.  With 
lusty  twins  to  make  the  galleries  of  the  old 
chateau  ring  with  mirth,  Bertram  and  Giletta 
lived  happily  ever  afterwards,  which  is  not  often 
the  way  of  romances  that  begin  after  marriage. 

It  was  after  marriage,  too,  that  misfortune 
elevated  Anne  Hyde  to  the  dignity  of  a  heroine. 
Her  story,  like  that  of  Giletta,  ended  in  a 
manner  true  to  poetical  justice.  And  if  there 
were  no  twins,  she  at  least  bequeathed  to 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

England  two  little  girls,  each  of  whom  in  turn 
was  crowned  its  queen.  The  epic  upon  which 
the  curtain  fell  fifty  years  afterwards,  when  Queen 
Anne  ceased  to  breathe,  has  a  fitting  prologue 
in  the  chain  of  events  associated  with  the 
secret  marriage  of  her  mother,  Anne  Hyde,  and 
its  ultimate  acknowledgment  by  her  husband, 
the  Duke  of  York. 

The  maids-of-honour  of  the  Princess  of  Orange, 
sister  of  Charles  II.  and  of  James,  Duke  of  York, 
had  as  comrade  a  young  English  girl,  whose 
comely  person  and  exuberant  spirits  distinguished 
her  in  a  Court  remarkable  neither  for  beauty 
nor  gaiety. 

In  1656  the  Princess,  accompanied  by  her 
ladies,  went  to  Paris  to  visit  the  Queen-mother, 
Henrietta,  widow  of  Charles  I.  At  his  mother's 
house  the  Duke  of  York  met  the  damsels 
from  the  Netherlands,  and  was  consoled  to 
find  amongst  so  sedate  a  company  his  vivacious 
young  country-woman. 

The  Duke  was  a  tall  and  soldierly  fellow  in 
his  twenty-second  year.  He  had  fought  on  land 
and  sea,  and,  as  soldier  and  sailor,  had  covered 
himself  with  glory.  Turenne  and  Conde,  the 
first  judges  of  military  prowess  in  Europe,  had 
applauded  him  as  one  of  the  bravest  warriors  of 
the  age.  It  was,  therefore,  a  Prince  who  was 
also  something  of  a  hero  who  invaded  the  circle 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  his  sister's  handmaidens  to  lay  siege  to  the 
fairest  and  brightest  of  the  strangers.  A  certain 
glamour,  too,  springing  from  the  misfortunes  of 
his  family,  enhanced  the  attractions  of  the 
Prince's  personality,  glamour  all  the  more  en- 
chanting because  the  clouds  were  dispersing,  and 
the  omens  promised  that  in  the  not  very  distant 
future  the  Prince  of  Wales  would  come  to  his 
own  again. 

The  imagination  of  the  young  maid-of-honour 
took  wings  at  being  singled  out  from  the  other 
ladies  for  attentions  so  flattering.  To  her  com- 
panions, however,  this  trifling  was  only  a  prince's 
mode  of  spending  his  furlough  from  the  wars, 
and  no  thought  of  a  wedding-ring  crossed  their 
minds  to  stimulate  their  jealousy  of  the  English 
girl.  The  Queen-mother  was  too  proud  to  take 
alarm  at  her  son's  preference  for  a  simple 
attendant ;  and  as  for  Anne's  mistress,  the 
Princess  of  Orange,  if  she  noted  James's  partiality 
for  the  society  of  her  maid,  it  would  only  be  to 
give  her  a  hint,  acid  or  kindly,  according  to  her 
mood,  of  the  perils  that  beset  a  pretty  girl  amidst 
the  temptations  of  a  Court.  The  Queen-mother 
and  the  Princess  had  but  one  ambition — to  re- 
habilitate the  fallen  fortunes  of  their  family.  The 
realisation  of  this  dream  of  their  lives  depended  in 
a  great  measure  upon  the  brides  chosen  by  Charles 
and  James.  The  marriage  of  the  Duke  of  York 

4 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

with  a  lady  devoid  of  great  fortune  and  separated 
by  a  vast  gulf  from  the  Royal  caste  would  naturally 
appear,  to  keener  observers  than  either  of  these 
ladies,  the  readiest  means  of  piling  ruin  on  ruin, 
and  of  making  the  Stuarts,  now  objects  of  pity, 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  Courts  of  Europe. 

When,  the  visit  of  the  Princess  of  Orange 
having  concluded,  she  took  leave  of  the  French 
capital  with  her  suite,  not  all  the  belles  of  Ver- 
sailles and  of  Fontainebleau  could  efface  the  im- 
pression made  upon  James  by  the  light-hearted 
coquette  from  The  Hague.  While  James  sighed 
for  Anne,  the  girl  herself  was  not  quite  happy 
amidst  the  sombre  gaieties  of  the  Dutch  Court. 
When  her  lover  was  near  her  she  was  coy. 
Before  his  advances  she  had  retreated  with  the 
masterly  generalship  of  an  experienced  cam- 
paigner in  affairs  of  the  heart.  But  now  that 
she  was  safe  from  the  siege  pressed  so  ardently 
by  her  Royal  lover,  she  sighed  for  the  reopening 
of  hostilities,  and  a  renewal  of  those  tender  am- 
buscades and  daring  sorties  that  enliven  the 
manoeuvres  of  an  impetuous  wooer.  The  armis- 
tice was,  however,  a  tantalising  one  for  the 
lovers,  and  it  was  only  in  1659  that  the  Prince 
was  able  to  muster  his  forces  for  a  final  and 
triumphant  assault  upon  the  heart  of  the  maid- 
of-honour. 

Negotiations  for  the  return  of  the  Royal 

5 


Family  to  England  were  at  this  time  in  the 
wind.  Foremost  amongst  those  who  were  busy 
with  schemes  for  the  Restoration  was  Anne's 
father,  Sir  Edward  Hyde.  Engrossed  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  he  could  spare 
little  time  from  his  duties  as  Lord  Chancellor 
to  the  Royal  exile  to  attend  to  his  family,  which 
was  residing  at  Breda,  under  the  protection  of 
the  Princess  of  Orange. 

Leaving  his  eldest  brother  and  Sir  Edward  to 
maintain  the  interests  of  the  Royal  House  at 
this  crisis  in  its  history,  the  Duke  of  York  set 
out  for  Holland,  there  to  set  the  seal  upon 
his  devotion  to  Anne.  It  was  in  1659  that 
James  espoused  his  sister's  maid-of-honour  in 
the  romantic  old  town  of  Breda.  With  magical 
swiftness  the  whole  political  horizon  changed. 
The  Stuarts  were  summoned  to  England,  and 
the  Duke  of  York  found  himself  heir-presumptive 
to  the  throne. 

The  return  of  the  Royal  exiles  to  England 
meant  also  the  return  of  Sir  Edward  Hyde,  still 
the  King's  Chancellor,  and  his  family.  Anne 
relinquished  her  appointment  at  The  Hague,  and 
joined  her  parents  at  Worcester  House,  her 
father's  residence  in  the  Strand.  James  made 
no  effort  to  escape  from  his  obligations,  notwith- 
standing this  sudden  turn  of  the  wheel  of 
fortune.  He  once  again  went  through  the 

6 


Photo  by  Emory  Walker,  after  a  painting  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  liy  fieranl  Foest 

EDWARD   HYDE.    FIRST   EARL   OF  CLARENDON. 

p.  6. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

marriage  ceremony  with  Anne,  this  time 
according  to  the  rites  of  the  Church  of  England, 
in  her  father's  mansion,  overlooking  the  Thames, 
plighting  his  troth  in  the  small  hours,  while 
London  slept. 

To  safeguard  Anne's  honour  the  public  avowal 
of  this  union  soon  became  an  imperative  duty. 
James  and  Charles  were  devoted  to  each  other. 
But  the  King  might  be  pardoned  for  anathema- 
tising the  ill-luck  that  obliged  him  to  solve 
a  dynastic  problem  of  extreme  difficulty  at  a 
season  that  was  singularly  inopportune.  There 
was  an  interview,  painful  and  stormy,  when  the 
Duke  confessed  to  His  Majesty  the  nature  of 
his  contribution  to  the  glory  of  the  Restoration. 
But  Charles  was  too  indolent  to  nurse  his  anger, 
too  cynical  for  anxiety.  Life  for  him  had 
sweeter  uses  than  wrangling.  His  wrath  passed 
quickly,  and  with  sunny  philosophy  his  mind 
was  henceforth  active  with  plans  for  overcoming 
the  obstacles  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
brother's  happiness. 

Himself  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  marry  a 
woman  of  inferior  station,  Charles,  in  his  action 
with  regard  to  his  brother's  mesalliance,  showed 
himself  not  only  a  man  of  the  world  but  a  man 
of  character.  With  a  tolerance  which  affords 
some  clue  to  his  real  capacity  for  estimating  the 
value  of  men  and  of  principles,  he  recognised 

7 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

that  York  had  behaved  as  a  gentleman — a  foolish 
gentleman,  perhaps,  but  with  more  of  chivalry 
than  of  folly. 

In  this  State  emergency  the  King  sent  for 
two  of  his  trusted  friends  and  counsellors. 
The  Marquis  of  Ormonde  and  the  Earl  of 
Southampton  were  the  envoys  whom  he  com- 
missioned to  communicate  to  the  Chancellor 
the  tidings  of  this  startling  alliance  between 
Worcester  House  and  Whitehall.  The  in- 
dignant father  returned  with  Ormonde  to  the 
King.  There  was  a  violent  scene  in  the  Royal 
presence,  with  all  the  violence  on  Sir  Edward 
Hyde's  side.  He  railed  against  his  daughter, 
begging  the  King  to  have  her  sent  to  the  Tower. 
Her  presumption  was  unpardonable.  Not  all 
the  tortures  of  the  executioner  could  sufficiently 
chastise  her.  He  disowned  and  cast  her  off. 
She  was  a  traitress  and  a  hussy.  Away  with 
her.  No  sire  of  ancient  Rome  could  have 
evinced  more  of  zeal  for  duty  and  less  of  affec- 
tion for  his  child. 

Charles  laughed  politely  in  his  sleeve.  The 
notion  of  sending  his  brother's  wife  to  the  Tower 
to  be  decapitated  at  leisure  was  too  droll.  The 
headsman  was  the  complement  of  the  priest  in 
bluff  King  Hal's  household  ;  but  Charles,  who 
had  a  pleasanter  way  with  domestic  entangle- 
ments, simply  thanked  the  Chancellor  for  his 

8 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

loyalty  and  then  calmly  awaited  the  trend  of 
events  for  a  chance  to  serve  the  minister's  wilful 
daughter. 

The  drama  which  divided  its  scenes  between 
the  Court  and  Worcester  House  was  soon  the 
talk  of  the  town.  Anne,  by  her  father's  order, 
was  kept  a  prisoner  in  her  room.  Her  husband, 
who  maintained  his  customary  stoicism  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  excitement,  regularly  visited 
Worcester  House — a  fact  which  supported  the 
view  that  Sir  Edward  Hyde  was  not  nearly  so 
enraged  at  the  honour  thrust  upon  his  family  as 
he  would  have  his  Royal  master  believe. 

While  ministers  were  debating  as  to  the  course 
to  be  followed,  and  Charles,  with  admirable  spirit, 
was  advising  a  frank  avowal  to  the  nation, 
Heaven  took  the  management  of  the  affair  into 
its  own  hands.  The  King's  young  brother, 
Henry,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  a  youth  devotedly 
loved  by  his  family,  was  taken  suddenly  ill  with 
small-pox  and  died.  Scarcely  had  he  been  laid 
to  rest  when  the  Princess  of  Orange,  Anne's  old 
mistress,  arrived  in  London.  The  Queen-mother 
hastened  to  follow  her,  and  the  ladies  of  the 
Royal  Family  now  assumed  the  ungracious  task 
of  leading  the  opposition  to  the  recognition  of 
the  marriage.  The  Queen-mother  was  even 
more  implacable  than  her  daughter.  She  de- 
clared that  if  ever  Anne  should  be  brought 

9 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

into  Whitehall   by  one   door,  she  should  leave 
it  by  another,  and  never  enter  it  again. 

By  way  of  bridging  in  some  degree  the 
difference  of  rank  dividing  the  bride  and  the 
bridegroom,  and  as  a  sort  of  polite  challenge  to 
his  mother  and  sister,  Charles  raised  Hyde  to 
the  peerage  as  Baron  Clarendon.  His  Majesty 
also  spoke  before  the  Court  of  his  belief  in  the 
validity  of  the  union,  thus,  as  it  were,  cutting 
the  bridges  behind  himself,  and  so  making 
impossible  a  dishonourable  retreat. 

A  villain  of  the  melodramatic  type  appeared 
on  the  scene  at  this  juncture  in  the  person  of  Sir 
Charles  Berkeley.  Sir  Charles  was  captain  of 
the  Duke  of  York's  Guard,  and  one  of  His  Royal 
Highness's  boon  companions.  With  almost 
incredible  audacity,  Berkeley  confessed  to  the 
Duke  that  he  had  been  the  recipient  of  favours 
from  Anne  Hyde.  He  supported  his  statement 
with  oaths,  and  brought  forward  the  Earl  of 
Arran,  the  younger  Henry  Jermyn,  Killigrew, 
and  Dick  Talbot,  as  witnesses  to  her  disreputable 
character.  The  Duke  was  aghast,  as  well  he 
might  be.  He  never  doubted  the  sincerity  of 
Berkeley,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  disappoint- 
ment he  ceased  his  visits  to  Worcester  House. 
The  parts  of  the  various  characters  in  the  drama 
were  now  completely  inverted.  The  King,  a 
more  subtle  judge  of  men  than  his  brother, 

10 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  still  poor  Anne's  friend.  But  the  Duke 
of  York,  who  was  hitherto  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything  on  the  altar  of  duty  while  duty 
followed  his  inclinations,  now  thought  seriously 
of  repudiating  his  obligations,  and  of  condemning 
his  unfortunate  wife  to  public  shame. 

Exquisite  mental  anguish  made  these  days 
long  and  miserable  beyond  all  words  for  the 
sorely  tried  prisoner  at  Worcester  House.  Be- 
sides the  ignominy  of  being  repudiated  by  her 
husband  on  the  eve  of  motherhood  as  an  aban- 
doned Magdalen,  there  was  the  weight  of  her 
father's  wrath  to  be  endured,  wrath  that  now  was 
real  enough.  Yet  still  more  heartrending  to  the 
hapless  creature  than  the  affliction  of  her  own 
deserted  plight,  or  the  thunder  on  her  father's 
brow,  was  the  spectacle  of  her  mother's  despair 
at  seeing  the  protection  of  the  Prince  withdrawn 
from  her  child  at  the  time  of  her  desperate  need. 
And  to  fill  the  cup  of  the  unhappy  wife's  sorrows, 
there  was  the  knowledge  that  her  reputation  was 
being  torn  to  tatters  by  the  rakes  of  the  Court  and 
the  scandal-mongers  of  the  town.  The  cry  that 
filled  her  heart  during  these  wretched  days  might 
well  be  an  echo  of  Gretchen's  lament  in  "  Faust " : 

For  him  my  soul  doth  wildly  strain. 
Ah  !  could  I  but  clasp  him  and  so  detain, 
Oh  !  could  I  but  kiss  him,  and  with  a  sigh 
Upon  his  kisses  dissolve  and  die. 
11 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  for  him  "at  the  lattice  her  eyes  grew 
dim,"  and  neither  Prince  nor  messenger  came  to 
alleviate  her  misery. 

In  the  midst  of  this  plotting  and  lying,  death 
again  crept  into  the  Royal  household.  Yester- 
day it  was  the  young  Duke  of  Gloucester,  the 
best  loved  of  the  Royal  Family.  Now  the 
Princess  of  Orange  was  stricken  down,  and  with 
tragic  swiftness  she  followed  her  brother  to  the 
tomb.  The  Queen- mother,  chastened  by  the 
lash  of  a  double  affliction,  had  little  heart  left  for 
a  quarrel,  in  which  all  the  arrogance  was  on  her 
side,  and  all  the  justice  on  the  other.  The  King, 
for  his  part,  was  only  too  eager  to  see  his  sister- 
in-law  exculpated,  and  James  was  the  most 
miserable  of  men. 

The  effrontery  of  the  ringleader  of  the  plot  to 
ruin  a  helpless  girl  did  not  desert  him  at  finding 
himself  without  a  sympathiser  amongst  the 
members  of  the  Royal  House.  On  his  knees 
before  the  Duke  of  York,  Berkeley  confessed 
with  mock  penitence  that  he  had  falsely  sworn 
away  his  wife's  honour.  Wonderful  to  relate, 
James  did  not  run  a  sword  through  the  courtier's 
black  heart.  Never,  indeed,  was  there  a  con- 
fession of  perjury  more  welcome.  Like  a  man 
reprieved  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows,  the  Duke 
was  too  delighted  to  think  of  retribution.  The 
King,  who  hated  to  use  the  iron  hand,  accepted 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  confession  of  infamy  with  his  usual  sang- 
froid. The  captain  of  the  Duke  of  York's 
Guard  was  too  gay  a  rascal  to  be  banished,  too 
amusing  for  so  dull  a  theatre  as  the  Tower, 
and  so  Charles  gladly  acquiesced  in  James's 
clemency. 

Punishment  of  a  kind  there  was  meted  out 
to  Berkeley.  But  it  was  of  the  poetical  order, 
and  doubtless  contributed  much  in  later  days  to 
his  amusement  and  to  that  of  his  associates. 
Diverting  as  they  may  have  found  it,  however, 
it  was  an  atonement  that  nevertheless  had  its 
sublime  phase,  for  it  was  linked  with  a  formal 
and  dramatic  vindication  of  the  woman  they  had 
so  treacherously  maligned. 

While  the  network  of  intrigue  was  being 
slowly  unravelled  Anne  had  given  birth  to  a 
baby  boy.  In  her  travail  a  bishop  and  a  bevy 
of  ladies  subjected  her  to  a  searching  cross- 
examination  concerning  the  paternity  of  her 
child.  The  noble  ladies  listened  with  straining 
ears  while  the  bishop  abjured  Anne  to  confess 
the  whole  truth.  But  the  truth  they  already 
knew.  There  was  nothing  to  confess.  This 
star-chamber  Court,  in  which  Anne's  life  and  her 
child's  trembled  in  the  balance,  was,  it  seems, 
ordered  by  the  King  who,  in  doing  so,  manifested 
his  usual  shrewdness.  Charles  knew  that  the 
men  who  had  assailed  the  mother's  reputation 

13 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

would  be  capable  of  asserting  that  her  babe  was 
an  impostor.  He  therefore  employed  what 
looked  like  a  barbarous  inquisition,  to  secure 
unimpeachable  testimony  concerning  the  birth  of 
a  child  who  would  stand  in  the  direct  line  of 
succession  to  the  crown. 

The  ceremonious  act  of  reparation  enjoined 
upon  the  conspirators  was  performed  when  Anne 
was  convalescent.  The  lady's  father  relates  that 
Berkeley  was  summoned  to  Worcester  House, 
and  he  was,  it  would  seem,  accompanied  by  his 
comrades  in  infamy.  Never,  most  assuredly, 
ought  conscienceless  dare-devils  to  have  crossed 
a  threshold  more  unwillingly.  If  one  spark  of 
true  manhood  flickered  in  their  hearts  they  would 
have  died  before  facing  a  daughter  of  this  house. 
But  Restoration  gallants  did  not  die  of  shame. 
Chivalry  was  worse  than  dead — it  was  a  laugh- 
ing-stock. 

What  would  one  not  give  for  a  canvas 
perpetuating  that  moment,  quick  with  a  thousand 
surging  emotions,  when  these  men  were  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  their  victim,  with  the  Duke 
of  York  at  her  side,  stern  and  proud !  History 
furnishes  no  parallel  to  that  scene.  The  allegory 
of  Bertram  and  Giletta  fails  us  here.  But 
one  can  picture  the  Prince  glancing  along  the 
line  of  his  quondam  friends — Berkeley,  Arran, 
KiUigrew,  Talbot,  the  captain  with  front  of 

14 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

brass,  his  lieutenants  skulking  at  their  worthy 
chieftain's  heels,  hangdog  and  sullen.  Four 
words  spoken  by  the  Duke  were  the  signal  for 
the  crowning  act  of  expiation.  They  were  those 
in  which  he  proclaimed  the  lady  at  his  side  : 

«...  The  Duchess  of  York  ! " 

As  the  Prince  pronounced  his  wife's  title  the 
penitents  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  she,  faint  and 
trembling  from  physical  weakness,  gave  her 
hand  to  be  kissed  in  turn  by  each  of  the 
slanderers. 

It  was  their  absolution  and  dismissal.  Ever 
afterwards  it  was  the  business  of  Anne's  life  to 
forget  that  she  had  passed  through  such  a 
novitiate  of  suffering. 

With  simple  dignity  the  maid-of-honour 
played  her  new  part  of  princess  as  though  to 
the  manner  born.  Her  influence  over  the  Duke 
of  York  was  the  strongest  that  ever  bridled  his 
proud  and  obstinate  temperament.  The  only 
weakness  of  his  that  she  was  powerless  either 
to  correct,  or  to  protect  him  from,  was  the 
disastrous  fascination  of  his  mistresses.  In  1671 
the  Duchess  passed  away. 

On  the  day  of  Anne  Hyde's  death  the  evil 
star  of  James  of  York  was  in  the  ascendant. 
The  homely  sense,  the  genial  wit,  the  broad 
human  sympathies  that  distinguished  her  char- 
acter were  qualities  so  dear  to  Shakespeare's 

15 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

countrymen,  that  they  might  have  redeemed 
the  follies  of  a  despot  and  saved  his  crown. 
But  now  it  was  Giletta's  turn  to  depart,  only 
her  flight  was  for  ever,  and  Bertram's  loss  beyond 
repair. 

The  little  prince,  around  whose  birth  had 
raged  the  tempest  of  passion  which  has  been 
described,  was  destined  to  only  a  few  months 
of  life.  On  February  6,  1664,  a  girl  was  born 
to  the  York  household,  who  was  christened 
Anne,  after  her  mother.  The  Royal  nursery  was 
not  empty  when  Anne  arrived.  Mary  was 
already  there,  a  bright  little  creature  a  couple  of 
years  old.  Later,  a  boy,  Edgar,  and  a  girl, 
Catherine,  were  born ;  but  Mary  and  Anne  were 
the  only  children  of  the  first  Duchess  of  York 
who  became  personages  in  history.  Mary  has 
only  a  minor  interest  for  us,  because,  in  marry- 
ing a  man  of  great  parts  and  weaknesses  planned 
on  a  proportionate  scale,  her  personality  was 
completely  overshadowed.  Mary  is  merged  in 
William. 

Not  so  Anne.  With  feebler  gifts  than  were 
her  sister's  portion,  with  a  husband  who  would 
have  been  more  happily  placed  as  a  simple 
trooper  than  as  prince-consort,  she,  nevertheless, 
not  only  helped  to  create  a  revolution  in  the 
government  of  England,  but  by  her  very 
irresolution  succeeded  in  perpetuating  its  con- 

16 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  the  picture  l>y  Sir  Peter  Lely  in  the 
National  1'ortrait  Gallery. 

ANNE  HYDE,  DUCHESS  OF  YORK. 


p.  16. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

sequences.  She,  in  a  special  manner,  was  the 
priestess  who  presided  over  the  tragedy  of  which 
the  victims  were  those  bound  to  her  by  the 
nearest  and  dearest  ties.  But,  strange  irony  of 
fate  !  Amazing  mystery  of  psychology  !  This 
princess,  whom  nobody  ever  dreams  of  as  possess- 
ing a  trait  in  common  with  the  Isabellas,  the 
Elizabeths,  the  Catherines  of  history,  this 
princess,  so  mediocre,  sacrificed  every  tie  to 
ambition  from  girlhood  onwards,  intriguing, 
deceiving,  flattering,  betraying — an  actress  to 
her  finger-tips — all  for  the  gilded  mockery  of  a 
leaden  crown. 


VOL.    I  17 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN,    fair    and    inviting,    all    obstacles 
to    possession     having     vanished,     the 
throne  at  last  rose  before  Anne  of  York,  she 
began  to   weigh   up  her  qualifications   for  the 
sceptre.     The  process  of  introspection  was  sadly 
unsatisfactory.      Her    Highness    found    herself 
wanting,   and   after    the    immemorial    tradition 
of  the  greedy  office-seeker,  she  then  thought  of 
equipping  herself  for  the   exalted   place  which 
she  had  first  of  all  made  sure  of  securing.     With 
this  object   she  took  up  the   study  of  history. 
Anne  the  matron  as  a  student  was  a  spectacle 
to  win  the  smiles  of  gods  and  men,  so  absurdly 
unsuited  to  the  part  was  she  by  reason  of  her 
training  and  her  tastes.     It  was  not  the  weight 
of  learning  that  was  to  bow  poor  Anne's  head, 
and   hurry  her  to  an  early  grave.     A   pack  of 
cards  was  the  tome  dearest  to  her  ;  and  if  she 
burnt  midnight  oil,  it  was  in  her  enthusiasm 
for    a    lively    rubber    with    scholars    who    had 
graduated  in  the  same  school,  and  valued  more 
a  decisive  ace  or  a  knave  that  stemmed  the  tide 

18 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  misfortune!  than  all  the  masterpieces  of  belles 
lettres. 

Censure,  however,  must  not  be  meted  out  to 
Anne  for  what  was  only  in  a  minor  degree  her 
fault.  The  daughters  of  the  Duke  of  York  were 
the  playthings  of  a  hundred  adverse  influences. 
They  belonged  neither  to  their  father  nor  to 
the  State.  Their  position  was  a  sort  of  com- 
promise between  both,  in  deference  to  which 
their  intellects  were  warped  and  their  natural 
affections  twisted  and  perverted.  Secular  know- 
ledge was  filtered  for  them,  that  it  might  be 
purified  into  harmony  with  the  politics  they 
were  permitted  to  absorb,  and  religion  itself 
hardly  escaped  the  same  disastrous  process. 
Only  minds  extraordinarily  endowed  could  have 
shaken  off  the  effects  of  such  upbringing,  and 
performed  for  themselves  in  maturer  years  the 
repugnant  task  of  revising  precepts,  analysing 
doctrines,  and  reconstructing  standards  inculcated 
in  childhood. 

The  education  of  Anne  was  confided  to  a 
clergyman  named  Lake,  with  Lady  Frances 
Villiers  as  governess.  Lake  drilled  his  pupil 
with  unflagging  ardour,  until  she  was  on  terms 
of  easy  familiarity  with  the  Thirty-nine  Articles 
and  their  main  theological  buttresses.  But  alas 
for  Lake's  labours  !  The  conscience,  at  once 
right  and  sensitive,  which  a  religious  training 

19 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

is  supposed  to  foster,  never  gave  the  least  hint 
of  its  existence  in  Anne  during  that  period 
of  her  life  which  supplied  a  unique  moral  test 
at  the  expense  of  her  unfortunate  father. 

The  position  of  Lady  Frances  Villiers  towards 
the  children  was  more  that  of  mother  than  of 
governess.  The  Villiers  family  was  one  of  those 
houses  which,  spreading  its  branches  far  and 
wide,  monopolised,  in  all  directions,  posts  of 
influence  and  profit.  The  Dukes  of  Bucking- 
ham were  the  heads  of  the  family  to  which 
Sir  Edward  Villiers,  the  husband  of  Lady 
Frances  Villiers,  belonged.  For  his  loyalty  and 
courage  in  the  Civil  War  he  had  received  a  lease 
of  the  manor  and  Royal  house  of  Richmond. 
And  thither  the  little  Princesses  of  York  were 
taken  when  their  mother  died. 

The  mischievous  elves  who  weave  black  skeins 
into  the  web  of  destiny  had  rare  sport  at  the 
old  manor  house  at  Richmond,  when  thither 
came  the  young  ladies  of  York.  Their  com- 
panions were  the  seven  Villiers  children,  of  whom 
Edward,  Elizabeth,  and  Anne,  were  destined 
to  play  important  parts  at  the  English  Court. 
Here,  too,  came  Sarah  Jennings  to  play,  and 
to  lay  the  foundations  of  that  ascendency  over 
the  younger  princess  which  was  to  harden  in 
time  into  tyranny  that  was  almost  as  enduring 
as  the  victim's  life.  Elizabeth  Villiers  was  the 

20 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

great  friend  and  confidante  of  Mary  of  York. 
It  was  a  friendship  that  begot  mournful  fruit 
for  Mary.  Elizabeth  presents  a  yet  more  sinister 
figure  in  history  than  that  of  the  masterful 
Sarah.  She  became  the  lover  of  Mary's  husband, 
the  ruler  of  the  ruler  of  England  and  the  Nether- 
lands. 

Anne  of  York  was  emancipated  towards  the 
end  of  her  life  from  Sarah's  thraldom,  but  her 
sister  was  fated  never  to  escape  from  the 
ignominy  of  which  the  friend  of  her  childhood 
was  the  ruthless  instrument.  Mounting  the 
ladder  of  shame,  she  obtained  a  coronet  as 
Countess  of  Orkney,  while  her  handsome  brother, 
Edward  Villiers,  became  an  ornament  of  the 
peerage  as  Earl  of  Jersey.  The  broad  avenue 
of  dishonour  as  a  short  cut  to  distinction  was 
not  unfamiliar  to  the  race  that  produced  George 
Villiers,  most  unscrupulous  of  gallants,  and 
Barbara  Villiers,  one  of  the  most  notorious,  as 
she  was  perhaps  the  loveliest,  of  the  profligates 
of  the  Restoration  Court. 

Little  Edgar  of  York  was,  of  course,  one  of 
the  group  who  shared  in  the  sports  and  studies 
and  companionship  of  Richmond  Palace.  But 
only  for  a  little  time.  With  the  death  of  Edgar 
the  prospects  of  his  two  sisters,  Mary  and  Anne, 
underwent  a  complete  change,  and  that  vast 
network  of  intrigue  began  which,  characterised 

21 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  every  form  of  duplicity,  only  ended  with  the 
close  of  the  Stuart  dynasty. 

The  Duke  of  York,  besides  being  an  able 
captain  and  a  successful  administrator,  was  a 
man  of  many  accomplishments,  acquired  by 
association  with  the  most  polished  society  of 
Western  Europe.  He  would  naturally  desire 
that  his  daughters  should  acquire  those  graces 
which  distinguished  the  Royal  ladies  of  France 
and  Italy.  In  the  Princess  Anne's  case  there 
was,  however,  a  serious  obstacle  to  the  Duke's 
ambitions.  She  was  a  lively  young  creature, 
plump  and  rosy,  and  full  of  animal  spirits,  but 
from  an  early  age  she  had  suffered  from  an 
affection  of  the  eyes.  The  ailment,  though  not 
a  very  serious  one,  baffled  the  London  physicians. 
The  child  was  next  taken  to  France,  and  Paris 
oculists  may,  it  is  thought,  have  been  consulted  ; 
but  the  trouble  did  not  pass. 

Her  visit  to  the  French  capital  is  memorable 
only  because  Anne,  for  the  first  and  last  time, 
had  an  opportunity  of  meeting  Louis  XIV., 
who,  when  a  boy  of  four,  had  ascended  the 
throne  of  France,  and  who  at  this  time,  in  the 
prime  of  early  manhood,  was  absorbed  in 
the  most  splendid  schemes  for  the  aggrandise- 
ment of  his  country.  Anne's  hostess  in  Paris 
would  be  her  aunt,  the  ill-fated  Duchess  of 
Orleans,  whose  name  scandal  linked  with  that 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  the  Count  de  Guiche,  and  whose  death 
rumour  ascribed  to  a  potion,  administered  by 
orders  of  her  husband.  Had  Louis  been  any- 
thing of  a  seer,  his  prophetic  soul  would  have 
shown  him  the  dainty  little  guest  of  the  Orleans 
household  grown  to  womanhood,  assuming  the 
crown  and  sceptre  of  Great  Britain,  and  as  one 
of  her  first  regal  acts  declaring  war  against  his 
august  self. 

One  day  a  little  bird  flew  into  the  old  manor 
house  at  Richmond  and  there  whispered  some- 
thing that  set  the  ears  of  the  Princesses  of 
York  tingling  and  their  pulses  throbbing  with 
novel  doubts  and  apprehensions :  the  word  that 
the  little  bird  whispered  was  "  Stepmother." 
In  royal  affairs  domestic  happiness  has  to  give 
way  to  political  exigencies.  The  future  of  the 
little  girls,  left  So  early  without  a  mother,  was 
the  least  important  factor  in  the  train  of 
negotiations  now  opened  with  the  design  of 
finding  a  second  wife  acceptable  to  a  gentleman 
of  easy  morals,  with  all  the  captiousness  of  a 
connoisseur  in  female  charms,  and  none  of  a 
real  lover's  enthusiasm. 

When  the  negotiations  had  been  brought  to 
a  conclusion,  and  James  had  found  a  bride  to 
his  fancy,  a  wholly  charming  figure  was  intro- 
duced into  the  drama  of  the  downfall  of  the 
Stuarts,  and  one  whose  nobility  and  innocence 

23 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

imparted  some  touch  of  true  regal  dignity  and 
pathos  to  her  husband's  misfortunes. 

The  King,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  was  anxious 
that  James  should  marry  again.  His  own 
marriage  was  so  disappointing  to  the  nation 
that  suggestions  for  a  divorce  from  Catherine  of 
Bragan9a  were  made  to  His  Majesty.  Charles 
scouted  this  infamous  proposal.  But  without  a 
male  heir  to  ensure  the  direct  line  of  succession, 
the  throne  was  at  the  mercy  of  every  intriguer 
with  the  wit  and  enterprise  to  play  upon  the 
anxieties  of  the  nation.  This,  however,  was 
not  the  only  reason  why  the  King  desired  the 
marriage  of  the  Duke.  According  to  all  the 
canons  of  wisdom,  James  had  made  a  fool  of 
himself  once.  His  union  with  Anne  Hyde  was 
a  blunder  which  had  turned  out  trumps,  but 
the  thanks  belonged  to  Providence,  whence 
miracles  could  not  be  regularly  expected  on 
behalf  of  one  prone  to  fall  before  the  least 
tempting  shrines  of  Venus. 

Any  lady  with  the  good  luck  to  attract  this 
impressionable  widower,  and  the  good  sense,  or 
virtue,  or  cunning,  to  repel  him,  might  rest 
assured  of  the  offer  of  his  hand.  In  self-defence, 
therefore,  the  King  decreed  that  York  should 
again  enter  the  holy  state,  and  the  Prince, 
most  loyal  of  subjects,  stipulating  only  that  his 
tastes  should  be  consulted,  yielded  acquiescence. 

24 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Many  princesses  were  honoured  by  having 
their  qualifications  considered  by  the  Royal 
match-makers,  amongst  them  two  ladies  of  the 
ancient  house  of  Este,  and  Maryanne  of  Wiir- 
temberg,  whose  father  was  killed  in  the  wars, 
and  who  was  at  the  time  in  a  convent  in  Paris. 

Henry,  Earl  of  Peterborough,  was  commis- 
sioned to  inspect  the  eligible  damsels  and  advise 
the  fastidious  swain  pining  for  ideal  companion- 
ship. This  delicate  mission  did  not  pass  off 
without  a  most  farcical  faux  pas,  but,  as  in 
every  farce,  there  was  one  character  who  did 
not  laugh,  and  in  this  instance  it  was  Maryanne 
of  Wiirtemberg. 

Peterborough  was  in  Germany  in  the  course 
of  his  delicate  pilgrimage,  when  he  received 
orders  to  post  to  Paris,  there  to  interview 
Maryanne,  and  if  report  spoke  truly  of  her 
beauty  and  graces,  to  lay  the  Prince's  heart 
at  her  feet.  While  the  noble  Earl  was  on 
the  road  the  Duke  revised  his  plans,  but  a 
messenger,  sent  to  intercept  him,  missed  the 
ambassador. 

In  Paris,  Peterborough  hastened  to  the  convent 
where  Maryanne  was  spending  her  period  of 
mourning.  The  vicarious  suitor  was  deeply 
touched  by  the  singular  beauty  and  sweetness 
of  the  orphan  Princess.  With  more  than  diplo- 
matic suavity  he  opened  his  missionand, conquered 

25 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  her  naivete',  begged  her  hand  for  his  Prince. 
The  ingenuous  delight  of  the  desolate  maid  at 
the  prospect  of  becoming  a  great  English  lady 
completed  the  conquest  of  the  nobleman,  who 
returned  to  his  hotel  to  send  home  a  glowing 
account  of  his  achievement !  But  alas  for  poor 
Maryanne's  hopes  of  happiness  !  One  breath  of 
icy  realism  dispelled  them  all.  Back  again  went 
Peterborough  to  the  convent.  This  time  the 
lovely  face  did  not  beam  with  joy.  And  the 
Earl,  having  executed,  as  tactfully  as  might  be, 
a  ridiculous  right-about-face,  retired  with  a  heart 
nearly  as  heavy  as  that  which  the  young  Princess 
bravely  tried  to  mask  with  a  smile,  sadder  than 
tears  could  be. 

Away  to  Modena  with  Peterborough,  where  a 
girl  of  fifteen,  one  of  the  most  charming  and 
most  highly  educated  princesses  in  Europe,  was 
to  be  chosen  as  stepmother  to  the  young  ladies 
of  York.  There  were  two  Princesses  of  Este, 
Mary  Beatrice  and  her  Aunt  Eleanor.  The 
Duke  of  York,  with  the  perversity  so  character- 
istic of  him,  chose  Mary  Beatrice  in  preference 
to  Eleanor,  a  woman  of  thirty,  who,  with  her 
superior  knowledge  of  the  world,  would  have 
been  better  fitted  to  act  as  guardian  to  the 
Duke's  daughters  and  counsellor  to  their  father, 
if  she  could  not  be  his  keeper  in  the  path  of 
matrimonial  rectitude.  But  James  would  have 

26 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  for  a  bride,  or  none  at  all. 
Mary  Beatrice's  ambition  was  not,  however,  for 
worldly  honours,  but  for  the  austere  quietude 
of  a  convent  cell.  It  required  a  great  deal  of 
persuasion  to  induce  her  to  accept  the  English 
Prince  ;  and  the  marriage  having  been  celebrated 
by  proxy,  the  Earl  of  Peterborough  set  out  for 
England  with  the  child- duchess. 

The  bride  was  a  protegee  of  Louis  XIV.,  and 
on  reaching  Paris  she  was  laden  with  magnificent 
gifts  by  the  French  king.  She  had  need  of 
such  encouragement,  for  before  she  resumed  her 
journey  to  the  coast  she  heard  of  the  fierce 
hostility  which,  on  account  of  her  faith,  had 
been  aroused  against  her  in  England. 

The  beautiful  young  Italian's  gaiety  deserted 
her  in  these  days,  as  well  it  might.  More  like  a 
State  captive  than  a  bride,  she  embarked  for 
England.  At  Dover  she  was  met  by  her  bride- 
groom. He  was  no  longer  the  debonnaire  youth 
who  had  played  havoc  with  the  hearts  of  the 
Dutch  maids-of-honour,  but  a  stern  and  serious 
man  of  forty,  whose  countenance  bore  the  un- 
attractive impress  left  by  years  of  political 
anxiety  and  free  living.  With  limbs  that  almost 
failed  her,  she  tottered  to  the  arms  of  her  lord. 
Her  heart  sank  low  at  that  first  embrace  ;  and 
could  the  impulse  of  her  bursting  heart  have 
freed  her  from  her  bonds,  and  obliterated  the 

27 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

funereal  pageantry  of  recent  days,  how  gratefully 
would  she  have  awakened  in  her  home  at 
Modena,  a  happy,  irresponsible  girl  once  more, 
with  ambition  soaring  no  higher  than  a  stall  in 
the  choir  of  a  neighbouring  convent !  But  now, 
alas  !  there  was  no  going  back.  Italy,  cloudless 
and  fair,  was  far  away,  and  England,  cold  and 
grey  and  in  all  things  uncertain,  was  beneath 
her  feet. 

The  bridal  procession  made  its  way  from  the 
coast  to  Gravesend,  and  thence  up  the  Thames, 
with  mediaeval  pomp,  to  Whitehall.  From  the 
State  barge  the  Duke  handed  to  the  King  his 
bride,  who  now,  with  childish  grace,  made  her 
entry  into  English  Court  life — another  Imogen, 
blindfold  and  innocent,  garlanded  for  lifelong 
martyrdom. 


CHAPTER  III 

T  ORD  BELLGUARD  in  "  Sir  Courtly 
*»-»  Nice,"  a  popular  comedy  of  the  later 
Stuart  epoch,  by  John  Crowne,  discussing  love 
and  women  with  his  sister  Leonara,  clinches  the 
debate  with  the  couplet  : 

Women,  like  china,  should  be  kept  with  care, 
One  flaw  debases  her  to  common  ware. 

The  wisdom  thus  epitomised  by  his  lordship 
and  inculcated  by  the  universal  licence  of  the 
day,  often  found  its  most  fervent  disciples  in 
fathers,  husbands,  and  brothers,  who,  though 
not  patterns  of  morality  themselves,  were  zealous 
in  offering  up  their  kinswomen  on  the  altar  of 
virtue.  Amongst  experienced  rakes  the  Duke 
of  York  should  be  awarded  a  place.  But  less 
painfully  solicitous  than  many  of  his  class  for  the 
honour  of  his  daughters,  they  were  not  always 
treasured  like  the  daintiest  porcelain.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, therefore,  if  in  their  maturity  the  vulgar 
qualities  of  common  ware  were  occasionally  more 
conspicuous  than  the  graces  becoming  the  purple. 

29 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  King,  to  whom  amusement  was  the 
supreme  care  of  State,  ordered  in  1674  the 
production  of  a  masque ;  and  braving  it  gaily 
as  leading  actresses  in  a  drama  consecrated  to 
the  cult  of  Venus,  we  find  the  two  young 
ladies  of  York.  In  later  years  James  of  York 
was  to  make  an  earnest  bid  for  saintship.  But 
as  yet  he  was  far  indeed  from  establishing  his 
title  to  the  halo  of  the  blessed  !  And  so  we  find 
him  permitting  his  two  little  girls  to  encounter 
the  perils  of  the  Court  festivities  to  which  we  are 
now  to  be  introduced.  Yet  another  treasure  of 
the  York  household,  porcelain,  in  truth,  of  the 
rarest  excellence  and  beauty,  was  presented  to 
the  Court  on  this  occasion.  This  gem,  amongst 
a  company  of  matchless  rogues,  was  Mary  of 
Modena  ;  but  the  advantage  was  hers  that,  new 
to  the  country  and  language,  she  could  only 
dimly  comprehend  the  drift  of  the  poetry  which, 
by  the  distinguished  profligates  around  her,  was 
followed  with  keen  delight. 

The  masque  was  a  regular  form  of  entertain- 
ment during  the  earlier  Stuart  epoch,  not 
only  at  Court,  but  at  the  houses  of  the  great 
nobles.  The  performances  were  at  times  marked 
by  little  of  the  decorum  one  would  associate 
with  cultivated  society,  even  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen  seeking  a 
remedy  for  stage-fright  and  the  necessary  fuel 

30 


for  enthusiasm  in  the  wine-cup.  What  may 
have  been  a  happy  handmaiden  of  art  when 
the  evening  was  beginning,  provoked,  as  the 
hours  wore  on,  scenes  at  which  the  sober  and 
stern  might  feel  disgust,  if  any  sober  and  stern 
there  were.  The  art  of  the  masque  decayed 
amidst  the  political  storms  that  led  up  to  the 
stern  discipline  of  the  Civil  War ;  and  under 
the  lugubrious  rule  of  the  saints  it  withered  and 
died  for  ever. 

Charles  II.  would  revive  the  art,  and  the 
dramatist  chosen  for  this  new  restoration  was 
John  Crowne.  Dryden,  as  Poet  Laureate,  might 
have  expected  the  honour  of  the  commission  ; 
but  Wilmott,  Earl  of  Rochester,  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  paying  off  a  grudge  against  the  more 
eminent  man  by  diverting  the  honour  to  Crowne, 
who  may  well  have  received  with  misgivings  this 
mark  of  noble  consideration.  Dryden  accepted 
the  slight  with  complacency.  If  he  was  to  be 
snubbed,  there  was  balm  in  the  selection  of  his 
amiable  friend  Crowne,  whose  talents  were 
agreeably  buoyant  when  weighed  in  the  balance 
against  his  own  estimate  of  himself. 

An  element  of  playful  malice  may  also  have 
entered  into  Dryden's  spirit  of  resignation. 
Court  society  was  distasteful  to  Crowne,  who 
was  rather  retiring  than  self-seeking,  and  whose 
sensitive  nature  must  have  paid  for  the  boisterous 

31 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

patronage  of  Wilmott  with  moments  of  acute 
distress.  Still  more  embarrassing  to  the  dramatist 
than  the  condescension  of  his  patron  was  the 
haste  in  which  the  composition  was  required, 
only  a  month  being  available  for  its  execution. 
Failure  would  have  made  him  a  target  for  the 
lampoons  of  envious  fellow-craftsmen  and  the 
wits  of  the  town,  a  prospect  that  was  but  a  poor 
spur  to  inspiration.  The  Muses,  however,  smiled 
on  Crowne.  When  the  month  had  passed,  and 
the  last  finishing  touch  had  been  given  it,  the 
masque  betrayed  no  hint  of  strain,  none  of  mid- 
night oil.  A  masterpiece  it  was  not ;  but  it 
reflected,  indeed,  something  of  the  serene  humour 
and  easy  grace  of  the  Pagan  classic  which 
had  inspired  it. 

Crowne's  complete  success,  under  conditions 
so  unpropitious,  can  hardly  have  been  anticipated 
by  Dryden,  who  was  wont  to  applaud  his  friend's 
efforts  with  gusto  only  when  the  public  turned 
upon  him  the  cold  shoulder. 

Revenge  was,  however,  around  the  corner,  in 
waiting  to  appease  the  wound  inflicted  upon 
the  vanity  of  the  Poet  Laureate  by  the  double- 
edged  sword  of  Wilmott 's  enmity  and  Crowne's 
triumph. 

Rochester  in  a  little  while  quarrelled  with 
his  protege,  whom  he  dubbed  "  Starchy  John," 
in  allusion  to  the  spinster-like  primness  of  his 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

attire.  The  nickname  might  pass  for  a  joke,  and 
was  relished  as  such  by  those  who  were  amused 
by  the  unchangeable  spirit  of  reverence  with 
which  John  adjusted  his  cravat  as  he  had  ever 
and  always  adjusted  it.  But  the  noble  rake 
followed  this  hit  up  with  an  effort  to  set  the 
town  laughing  at  a  metaphor  in  which  the 
poet  had  offended  his  sensitive  ear  by  allowing 
"  sportive  waves "  to  smile  upon  the  sun. 
Rochester  launched  into  rhyme  with  the  sneer : 

Waves  smiling  on  the  sun!     I'm  sure  that's  new, 
And  'twas  well  thought  on,  give  the  devil  his  due. 

The  devil  did,  in  all  truth,  have  his  due  in 
the  masque.  The  subject  was  in  the  worst 
possible  taste.  It  was  Ovid's  fable  of  Jupiter's 
love  for  Calisto,  the  daughter  of  Lycaon,  king 
of  Arcadia.  Jupiter,  to  accomplish  his  wishes, 
assumed  the  form  of  Diana,  of  whom  Calisto 
was  a  favourite  attendant.  The  sequel  to  the 
god's  adventures  was  the  birth  of  a  child,  Arcos, 
whom  the  mother  hid  in  the  woods.  Juno, 
furious  with  jealousy  on  discovering  the  secret, 
changed  the  victim  of  her  husband's  imposture 
into  a  bear,  to  which  Jupiter  retorted  in  god-like 
fashion  by  making  the  bear  a  constellation. 

To  shock  Whitehall  was  impossible.  To 
amuse  it  was  imperative.  In  deference  therefore 
to  the  Gallic  zest  for  entertainment  which 

VOL.   I  33  D 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

possessed  the  Court,  rather  than  from  regard 
for  the  extinct  proprieties,  Ovid  was  modified 
for  the  masque.  Crowne  introduced  Mercury, 
whom  he  made  to  fall  in  love  with  one  of 
Diana's  attendants,  Psecas,  an  envious  nymph 
who  assists  Juno  to  be  avenged.  The  part  of 
Nyphe,  friend  to  Calisto,  was  created  to  provide 
a  place  for  the  Princess  Anne,  while  that  of 
Arcos,  which,  however  amusing  to  the  Merrie 
Monarch,  would  have  been  an  occasion  of  some 
embarrassment  to  her  more  precocious  sister,  was 
eliminated. 

Mrs.  Betterton,  the  great  Lady  Macbeth  of 
her  time,  was  teacher  of  elocution  to  the  Royal 
children.  Both  girls  would  probably  have  done 
better  at  Drury  Lane  than  as  Queens-regnant. 
Anne,  especially,  had  qualities  which  every  great 
actress  must  possess,  of  which  the  most  charming 
was  a  voice  of  singular  purity  and  sweetness. 
The  throne  was  in  some  degree  the  reward  of 
her  signal  ability  to  play  a  part — too  often  an 
ignoble  one.  It  was  therefore  with  a  certain 
cynical  appropriateness  that,  when  she  had  reached 
the  summit  of  her  ambition,  she  settled  a  pension 
on  the  estimable  lady  who  had  been  of  old  her 
theatrical  professor. 

The  caste  of  the  masque  has  for  the  reader 
of  to-day  all  the  charm  of  an  old  ball-programme, 
which,  faintly  fragrant  with  lavender,  is  dis- 

34 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

covered  by  some  grandson  in  an  antique  cabinet, 
the  sanctuary  of  the  secrets  of  a  past  generation 
—the  generation  when  his  gran'dame  was  a 
dainty  maid.  That  programme,  yellowed  with 
age,  faintly  outlines  a  tale  already  told  in  real 
life,  the  tale  of  many  a  family.  There  are  the 
initials  of  the  grandsire,  and  there,  and  there, 
showing  the  dances  that  rewarded  his  eager  suit. 
It  was  perhaps  in  the  first  stately  minuet  he 
lost  his  heart.  It  was  perhaps  while  threading 
the  last  he  whispered  to  his  partner  of  his  loss, 
and  while  her  hand  trembled  in  his  he  likewise 
lost  his  head  with  delight,  and  spoiled  the  figure. 
Of  course,  grandfather  was  the  prize  amongst 
the  beaux,  and  his  partner  the  belle  of  the 
evening.  That  was  a  pious  tradition  of  the 
house.  But  other  ladies,  too,  were  belles  that 
evening,  and  amongst  the  beaux  there  were  other 
prizes.  And  other  hearts  were  given  away  in 
the  mazes  of  the  minuet.  Here  are  initials  that 
tell  of  a  homely,  happy  story — births,  deaths, 
and  marriages,  all  in  honourable  routine.  But 
there  are  others,  for  one  who  knows,  that  re- 
call some  gay  Lothario,  gay  no  more,  and  the 
gentle  hearts  he  broke,  as  often  told  by  the 
fireside  of  a  winter's  evening.  And  studying 
that  relic  of  the  past,  the  antique  cabinet 
fades  away,  and  the  whole  radiant  company 
of  the  olden  ballroom  glide  upon  the  scene  to 

35 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

charm  the  imagination  that  now  can  trace  upon 
every  brow  the  handwriting  of  Destiny — Destiny 
long  since  accomplished. 

Mild  is  the  romance  of  our  mildewed  pro- 
gramme when  compared  with,  that  enshrined  in 
the  caste  of  the  Royal  masque,  in  which  the 
two  little  ladies  who  were  to  be  Queens  of 
England  won  the  smiles  of  the  Court.  They 
had  amongst  their  companions  nymphs  drawn 
from  the  fairest  daughters  of  the  nobility,  and 
a  brave  array  of  gentlemen  to  join  the  nymphs 
in  their  dances.  But  on  the  programme  with 
which  King,  and  York,  and  courtiers  toyed  that 
evening,  the  leading  characters  were  : 

Calisto,  loved  by  Jupiter  .  Her  Highness  the  Lady  Mary. 

Nyphe,  a  nymph       .         .  Her  Highness  the  Lady  Anne. 

Jupiter,in  love  with  Calisto  Lady  Henrietta  Wentworth. 

Juno         ....  The  Countess  of  Sussex. 

Psecas,  an  envious  nymph  .  The  Lady  Mary  Mordaunt. 

Diana,  Goddess  of  Chastity  Margaret  Blague. 

Mercury,  in  love  with  Psecas  Sarah  Jennings. 

Eyes  brighter  than  the  wearers'  diamonds, 
flaming  to  the  reflection  of  a  thousand  lights, 
sparkled  and  shone  when  the  curtain  rose  in 
the  theatre  at  Whitehall  upon  "  Calisto,  or  the 
Chaste  Nymph."  It  was  a  tournament  of 
beauty,  with  brilliancy  warring  on  brilliancy, 
and  lustre  surpassing  itself  to  dim  lustre,  for 
the  prize  of  a  smile,  or  a  murmured  word  of 

36 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

flattery.  The  Court  for  that  one  night  was  a 
sensual  heaven,  dazzling  in  the  glory  of  its 
fallen  angels,  and  of  those  younger  beauties, 
novices  as  yet  in  the  wiles  of  coquetry,  which 
were  the  fatal  passport  to  the  Royal  favour. 

The  men  who  were  making  history,  and 
dissipating  fortunes,  and  honour,  and  happiness, 
were  all  there.  In  the  centre  of  the  Royal 
circle,  his  swarthy  face  aglow  with  delight,  was 
the  Prince  of  the  Revels,  Charles  himself. 
There,  too,  was  the  Queen,  her  dark,  imperious 
features  disciplined  in  a  merciless  school  to 
endure  every  mortification  that  could  lacerate 
a  woman's  soul.  Close  by  was  the  Duke  of 
York,  glorying  in  the  beauty  of  his  child-wife, 
whose  lustrous  eyes,  sparkling  with  rapture, 
filled  the  ladies  with  resentment,  and  ravished 
the  hearts  of  the  inflammable  young  gallants, 
who  hungered  for  one  flashing  glance  from  the 
smouldering  fire  in  their  limpid  depths.  Here 
there  were  ears  for  but  one  language,  and 
applause  for  but  one  art — the  language  of  love, 
the  art  of  gallantry. 

On  every  hand  there  were  brave  soldiers  ;  but 
here  they  were  esteemed,  not  because  of  the 
laurels  won  in  the  field,  but  because  of  the 
hearts  they  had  broken,  or  the  hearts  they  were 
likely  to  break.  The  very  atmosphere  was 
intoxicating,  as  though  charged  with  some 

37 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

voluptuous  essence,  distilled  by  Mephistopheles 
in  the  mood  in  which  he  makes  woman  irre- 
sistible and  her  lover  resistless.  It  was  an 
audience  which,  against  all  its  scarlet  sins,  could 
plead  but  one  redeeming  trait.  It  could  not  be 
dull  if  it  would,  and  every  sally  evoked  its 
meed  of  silvery  laughter  from  the  fairest  throats 
in  Europe. 

In  the  midst  of  those  revels,  remote  indeed 
from  the  shadows  of  mourning,  fate  was  weaving 
a  shroud  for  the  handsomest  young  rake  of  the 
Court,  whose  love  was  to  be  the  undoing  of 
the  fair  and  spirited  maid  who  for  that  night 
was  the  star  of  Whitehall. 

The  peerless  gallant,  gayest  of  the  gay,  was 
the  King's  son,  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  then 
only  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  who,  carrying 
himself  with  grace,  carelessly  superb,  made  Lady 
Henrietta  Wentworth  his  slave  beyond  all  hope 
of  redemption. 

Enriched  by  the  gods  with  every  gift  that 
the  kindest  of  fairy  princesses  could  lavish 
on  her  favourite — wealth,  beauty,  rank,  high 
courage,  the  love  of  devoted  friends  -  -  this 
hapless  girl  squandered  all  on  one  who  boasted 
every  charm,  and  lacked  every  virtue  which 
could  reward  a  woman's  trust. 

Of  the  seven  ladies  cast  for  the  masque,  Lady 
Henrietta  and  Sarah  Jennings  had  to  don  male 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  the  picture  by  William  Wissins;  in  the 
National  Portrait  Gallery. 

JAMES  SCOTT,   DUKE   OP   MONMOUTH,   K.G. 


p.  38. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

attire.  With  the  abandonment  of  overflowing 
spirits,  Lady  Henrietta  threw  herself  into  the 
part  of  the  jovial  god  bound  on  amorous 
adventure.  Reckless  was  she  of  her  heavenly 
spouse's  jealousy ;  and  with  infectious  humour, 
strangely  bold  on  the  lips  of  a  seventeen-year- 
old  damsel,  she  dared  the  angry  Juno  to  do  her 
worst,  and  then  chided  her  for  having  done  it. 
The  blase  company  laughing  around  Charles 
must  have  been  enchanted  at  such  sentiments 
from  one  so  young  and  so  inexperienced,  de- 
claimed with  lively  appreciation  of  their  Olympian 
drollery.  But  one  laugh  at  least  should  have 
rung  hollow  at  those  moments,  when  Jupiter 
pressed  hot  in  pursuit  of  the  child  Calisto.  The 
Duke  of  York's  feelings  must  have  been 
strangely  blunted  if  he  could  have  heard  without 
some  doubts  and  heart-searchings  this  Jupiter 
of  seventeen  apostrophising  Pleasure  personified 
in  the  alluring  person  of  his  child,  the  sleeping 
Calisto. 

Never  was  there  so  engaging  an  apostle  of 
unrestrained  voluptuousness  as  this  enchanting 
Jupiter,  who  achieved  a  conquest  that  made  her 
the  envy  of  the  Court  in  winning  the  heart  of 
the  King's  son.  A  word-picture  which  conjures 
up  a  vision  of  an  irresistible  Adonis  has  been 
handed  down  by  Grammont,  who  knew  Mon- 
mouth  in  his  all-conquering  youth : 


"  His  figure  and  the  extraordinary  grace  of 
his  person  were  such  that  Nature  never  carved 
anything  so  complete.  His  face  was  extremely 
handsome,  yet  it  was  a  manly  face.  It  was 
neither  inanimate  nor  effeminate,  each  feature 
having  its  own  peculiar  beauty  and  delicacy. 
He  had  a  wonderful  genius  for  every  sort  of 
sport  and  exercise,  an  engaging  aspect,  and  an 
air  of  grandeur.  In  a  word,  he  possessed  every 
personal  advantage.  But  in  proportion  to  the 
greatness  of  his  personal,  was  the  deficiency 
of  his  mental  accomplishments.  He  had  no 
opinions  but  such  as  he  derived  from  others  ; 
and  those  who  insinuated  themselves  into  his 
friendship  took  care  to  inspire  him  with  none 
but  such  as  were  pernicious.  The  astonishing 
beauty  of  his  outward  form  excited  universal 
admiration.  Those  who  before  were  looked 
upon  as  handsome  were  now  forgotten  at 
Court.  All  the  beautiful  and  gay  of  the  fair 
sex  were  at  his  devotion.  He  was  particularly 
loved  by  the  King,  but  the  terror  of  husbands 
and  lovers." 

Where  all  the  beautiful  and  gay  amongst  the 
fair  were  at  the  devotion  of  this  youth,  whom 
Nature,  in  a  riot  of  generosity,  had  moulded 
into  a  king  amongst  men,  no  wonder  Henrietta, 
with  all  the  infallible  sapience  of  her  seventeen 
years,  bowed  her  proud  neck  to  his  yoke. 

40 


From  a  mezzotint  eiixmvin*;  after  the  painting  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kncllcr. 
LADY    HENRIETTA    WEXTWORTH. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Neither  the  prayers  of  those  who  loved  her, 
nor  their  stratagems,  could  wean  her  from  her 
infatuation.  Monmouth  had  been  married  by 
orders  of  the  King,  when  he  was  only  a  boy 
of  fourteen,  to  the  Countess  of  Buccleuch,  the 
child-heiress  to  £10,000  a  year.  But  that  he 
was  another  woman's  husband  was  no  deterrent 
to  the  passion  of  a  girl  who  was  in  no  wise 
superior  to  an  age  which  regarded  every  sin 
as  an  added  attraction  in  a  woman,  and  in  a 
man  an  extra  cachet  of  distinction. 

Her  mother  took  her  away  from  Court,  fore- 
seeing from  this  influence  the  wreck  of  her 
daughter's  life.  But  the  magnetism  of  Mon- 
mouth was  stronger  than  the  mother,  stronger 
indeed  than  the  child.  The  Earl  of  Thanet 
loved  the  perverse  beauty,  and  laid  his  heart 
at  her  feet ;  but  she  preferred  to  squander  the 
treasure  of  her  affection  upon  the  Royal 
prodigal.  Perhaps  she  thought  the  day  would 
come  when  the  son  of  Lucy  Walters,  who 
already  plumed  himself  amongst  a  clique  as 
Prince  of  Wales,  should  mount  the  throne 
of  England.  Hugging  this  illusion  to  her 
soul,  dreaming  Heaven  alone  knows  what  vain 
dreams  of  a  diadem,  she  gave  all  she  had  to 
give — her  fortune  and  her  life.  Like  a  prince 
of  melodrama  her  lover  stumbled  blindly  to  the 
scaffold,  and  Henrietta  Wentworth,  baroness 

41 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  her  own  right,  went  down  to  her  grave 
with  a  broken  heart  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine. 

The  lily  in  the  gallery  of  sinners  was  the 
chaste  Diana  herself,  impersonated  by  Margaret 
Blague,  a  maid-of-honour  to  the  Queen. 
Margaret  was  dismayed  at  being  cast  for  the 
part.  Her  unsaintly  comrades  laughed ;  but  to 
this  girl,  as  good  as  she  was  lovely,  it  was  no 
laughing  matter  to  play  at  being  the  goddess 
who  "had  patronised  Endymion  and  had  not 
repulsed  Hypolitus."  So  desperate  was  her 
desire  to  escape  from  the  unwelcome  honour, 
that  she  resigned  her  place  in  the  Queen's 
suite.  As,  however,  there  was  some  delay  in 
paying  to  her  the  usual  honorarium  given  to 
maids-of-honour  on  their  retirement,  the  girl 
tempered  the  more  angelic  virtues  witJh  worldly 
prudence,  and  donned  the  robes  and  jewels 
deemed  becoming  to  a  Court  Diana.  Every- 
body knew  that  Margaret  appeared  on  the 
stage  unwillingly,  and  persiflage  did  not  spare 
so  fair  a  theme  for  mirth. 

But  while  banter  and  repartee  sparkled  in 
the  green-room,  and  the  audience  exchanged 
meaningful  glances  at  the  amazing  innuendos 
of  the  masque,  Margaret  was  enduring  agony. 
Evelyn's  record  of  that  December  night  affords 
an  intimate  glimpse  into  her  emotions.  Her 
poignant  distress  is  the  most  eloquent  evidence 

42 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

left  us  of  the  diablerie  of  these  effervescing 
hours :  "  During  the  time  the  performance  was 
proceeding  and  her  presence  was  not  required, 
she  returned,"  writes  Evelyn,  "to  the  tireing 
roome,  where  several  ladyes,  her  companions, 
were  railing  with  the  gallants,  trifleingly  enough, 
until  they  were  called  to  enter.  She,  under 
pretence  of  conning  her  next  part,  was  retired 
into  a  corner,  reading  a  book  of  devotion, 
without  at  all  concerning  herself  or  mingling 
with  the  company — as  if  she  had  no  further 
part  to  act,  who  was  the  principal  person  of 
the  comedy." 

Diana  studying  her  prayer-book  in  a  corner 
of  the  crowded  green-room,  amidst  the  rattle 
of  free-and-easy  converse !  What  a  masque 
within  the  masque  !  One  bends  the  knee  to 
Margaret,  and  one  longs  to  see  her  sweet  lips 
tremble  ever  so  slightly,  curbing  a  rebel  smile ; 
for  the  contrast  of  the  saint  wrapt  in  prayer 
in  the  midst  of  those  merry  reprobates  is  a 
morsel  of  humour  so  delicate  that  the  saint 
increases  our  admiration  by  the  tribute  of  a 
humorous  twinkle  in  her  seraphic  eye.  What 
an  edifying  spectacle  it  all  was  for  the  ladies 
Mary  and  Anne  of  York  !  One  can  see  the 
children  pricking  their  ears  to  catch  every  fine 
point  scored  by  the  "ladyes  railing  with  the 
gallants,"  and  points  perhaps  a  trifle  blunt  scored 

43 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  the  gallants  "  railing "  with  the  "  ladyes." 
The  arrows  were  no  doubt  deftly  shot,  so  as 
to  wound  the  virtuous  Margaret  in  their 
ricochet ;  and  if  the  princesses  were  slow-witted, 
arch  glances  shot  at  the  maid-of-honour  conning 
her  book  of  devotion  helped  their  intuition. 

In  very  leisurely  fashion  the  long  drama 
unfolded  its  five  acts,  while  the  gallants  and 
"  ladyes  "  railed  in  the  tireing  -  room ;  and 
galleries  and  gardens  witnessed  the  artful  art- 
lessness  of  the  coquette  strayed  from  the  theatre 
to  the  tryst.  Margaret's  spirit  was,  indeed, 
foreign  to  such  a  rout.  "  Without  compli- 
menting any  creature,"  says  Evelyn,  "  or  trifle- 
ing  with  the  rest  who  staid  the  collation  and 
refreshment  that  was  prepared,  away  she  slips, 
like  a  spirit,  to  Berkeley  House  and  to  her 
little  Oratorye,  whither  I  waited  on  her,  and 
left  her  on  her  knees  thanking  God  that  she 
was  delivered  from  the  vanity,  and  with  the 
Saviour  againe." 

Godolphin,  whose  history  is  so  closely  inter- 
woven with  this  period,  afterwards  married  the 
nun-like  Margaret,  and  for  eight  years  the 
"  treasure  without  price "  was  left  him.  He 
proved  his  constancy  to  her  by  never  marrying 
again.  Godolphin  was  as  yet  low  down  the 
ladder  of  success,  but  Dunblane,  one  of  the 
gentlemen  who  danced  with  Monmouth  in 

44 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  masque,  represented  in  a  sense  the  zenith 
of  politics,  for  his  father  was  that  Earl  of  Danby, 
after  Duke  of  Leeds,  in  whom  craft  amounted 
almost  to  genius.  His  freedom  from  common- 
place scruples  was  a  theme  that  constantly 
tempted  the  scribblers  of  the  day  to  air  their 
wit  at  his  expense.  One  lampoon  epitomised 
his  deserts  in  this  popular  doggerel : 

Of  subjects  I  have  ne'er  heard  tell, 
Nor  could  any  in  this  land  be, 

That  deserve  a  halter  half  so  well 
As  Thomas,  Earl  of  Danby. 

"  You  must  allow,"  says  Bellguard  to  Leonara, 
"  that  a  jewel  is  not  so  safe  in  a  crowd  as  when 
locked  up."  The  jewels  of  Bellguard 's  metaphor 
here  found  their  chief  security  in  the  multi- 
plicity of  rogues.  The  Duchess  of  Cleveland, 
loveliest  of  courtesans,  most  implacable  of 
viragos,  was  amongst  the  audience.  But  her 
grace  had  a  fair  deputy  on  the  stage  in  the 
person  of  the  Countess  of  Sussex,  her  daughter, 
who  was  entrusted  with  the  part  of  Juno,  and 
who,  if  heredity  afforded  a  guarantee  of  ability, 
ought  to  have  excelled  as  an  exponent  of  the 
vindictive  goddess's  wrath  and  jealousy.  Cleve- 
land's rival,  the  volatile  Louise  de  Querouaille, 
Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  unofficial  Secretary  of 
State  for  Foreign  Affairs  to  Charles,  was  perhaps 

45 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  subject  for  commiseration,  because  none  of 
her  progeny  figured  as  nymph  or  god  or  goddess. 
But  the  evening  had  its  compensations  likewise 
for  her.  She  had  the  gratification  of  seeing 
there  her  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  a 
blushing  bride,  who,  pirouetting  in  the  train 
of  Calisto  as  an  attendant  nymph,  modestly 
personified  Louise's  respect  for  the  holy  state 
of  matrimony,  and  a  substantial  jointure  1 

Long  after  Margaret  had  fled  to  her  "  Ora- 
torye,"  long  after  she  had  left  her  "  Oratorye  " 
for  her  couch,  the  salons  of  Whitehall  rang 
with  the  laughter  of  the  giddy  throng  devotedly 
bent  on  prolonging  every  exquisite  moment  of 
pleasure.  With  eyes  heavy  with  weariness,  and 
hearts  perhaps  a  little  sad  for  the  delirium  too 
quickly  passed,  the  ladies  of  York  took  leave 
of  the  Merrie  Monarch,  the  weary  beauties, 
and  the  yawning  gallants.  And  then  at  last 
the  lights  burnt  low.  The  laughter  grew  in- 
frequent and  rang  hollow,  until  at  length  the 
chilly  sense  of  loneliness  crept  upon  the  palace, 
and  the  only  signs  of  life  remaining  were  the 
sentinels  keeping  their  sleepless  vigil. 


46 


CHAPTER  IV 

r~TlO  his  pillow,  on  the  night  of  the  masque, 
-*T  a  gentleman  of  the  Court  carried,  one 
would  fain  believe,  the  vision  of  a  sweet  nymph, 
a  mere  child  of  nine,  with  silvery  voice  and 
all  the  charm  of  perfect  innocence,  where 
innocence  was  the  supreme  jest  and  the 
supreme  jewel.  The  gentleman  was  the  Earl 
of  Mulgrave,  Knight  of  the  Garter,  and  the 
nymph  was  Anne  of  York. 

Some  half-dozen  years  rolled  by,  chequered 
by  many  and  sharp  vicissitudes  for  the  York 
family.  Anne  was  now  a  comely  girl  of 
sixteen,  endowed  with  the  soft,  winsome 
charm  of  irresponsible  and  high-spirited  girl- 
hood. The  gift  of  all  others  that  captivates 
most  unfailingly  was  hers — a  sweet  voice 
modulated  with  unaffected  grace.  When  Anne 
spoke,  the  syllables  were  music  welling  forth 
melodiously  from  a  magic  flute,  every  vibration 
expressive  of  a  heart  more  fearless  than  kind, 
the  heart  of  a  winning  young  barbarian.  Her 
cheeks  had  that  charm  of  colour  that  seldom 

47 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

warms  perfection  of  feature,  while  her  hands  and 
feet,  strictly  beautiful  in  every  tapering  line,  in 
every  gracious  curve,  were  classics  of  symmetry. 
To  this  untamed  nymph,  with  the  voice  that 
awakened  strange  chords  of  perilous  sympathy 
in  the  too  responsive  bosoms  of  the  cavaliers 
of  the  Court,  there  came  at  this  time  the  first 
dream  of  love.  This  page  of  Anne's  story 
embellished  with  roses  tells  but  a  broken  tale. 
Yet  a  fragment  of  Palissy  is  often  more  precious 
than  cold  perfection  void  of  soul  or  sentiment. 
This  episode  in  the  girlhood  of  the  young 
princess,  with  the  glowing  ^checks  ruddy  and 
alluring  with  the  quick  blood  of  youth,  and 
the  hands  and  feet  of  a  masterpiece  of  Praxiteles, 
is  an  idyll — the  only  one  in  a  career  that  never 
again  strayed  from  the  prose  of  life  into  the 
enchanted  realms  of  poetry.  Her  lover  was 
young  and  handsome,  blithe  and  debonnaire, 
with  much  of  the  physical  charm  of  a  Monmouth, 
but  immeasurably  his  superior  in  grace  of 
mind.  Her  cavalier,  too,  was  bold  in  love  and 
bold  in  war  as  ever  was  knight  of  Arthurian 
legend  ;  and  if  his  puissance  fell  short  of  the 
grandeur  of  Sir  Galahad's  boast : 

But  all  my  heart  is  drawn  above 

My  knees  are  bow^d  in  crypt  and  shrine ; 

I  never  felt  the  kiss  of  love 
Nor  maiden's  hand  in  mine, 
48 


From  a  mezzotint  cnyravinjr  liy  R.  C'dnpfr.  after  the  jinlntliiir  1>y  W.  \Vi 
P1UXCES8  AXNB   IN    EARLY   YOUTH. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Anne  at  least  knew  nothing,  or  ought  to  have 
known  nothing,  of  the  Earl  of  Mulgrave's  wilder 
and  less  poetical  transports  in  the  domain  of 
romance.  But  the  maid,  if  not  the  knight, 
was  happily  worthy  of  Arthurian  ideals, 
courageous  as  a  lioness  with  her  ladies,  but 
timid  and  gentle  as  a  fawn  with  the  gallant 
whose  shadow  she  could  have  kissed.  If  sixteen 
enamours  at  all  it  is  flawless  and  sinless,  because 
it  is  all  flaws  and  sins — little  flaws  that  are  only 
foibles,  and  innocent  little  sins  that  every 
Elizabeth,  and  Teresa,  and  Agnes,  of  them  all 
might  have  sinned. 

Who  can  tell  when  a  romance  begins  where 
the  man  knows  the  maid  from  the  cradle,  and  he 
is  amongst  the  first  heroes  of  her  childish  imagina- 
tion ?  The  Duke  of  York  had  a  warm  regard 
for  Mulgrave,  who  repaid  the  Prince's  affection 
with  loyalty  as  sincere  as  he  was  capable  of,  and 
one  suspects  that  Anne,  on  entering  her  teens, 
began  to  have  tender  visions  of  the  future  with 
the  young  Earl  as  their  inspiration.  How  could 
the  little  Princess  help  it,  when  none  of  the  friends 
of  the  York  household  were  so  handsome,  none 
so  witty,  none  more  fearless  than  he !  And 
Mulgrave,  arch-rogue  where  gentle  hearts  were 
the  prize,  if  he  read  her  secret,  took  care  to  fan 
the  flame.  If  no  one  can  fix  a  day  when  these 
two  read  in  each  other's  eyes  the  attraction  of 

VOL.    I  49  E 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

heart  for  heart,  there  is  also  some  uncertainty  as 
to  whether  the  spring  of  1679-80,  or  a  later  period, 
witnessed  the  unhappy  climax  of  the  courtship. 

The  romance,  whenever  begun,  ran  the  brief 
course  of  its  serious  phase  at  Windsor.  There, 
amidst  the  seductive  glades  in  the  spring  time, 
Anne  and  Mulgrave  met,  and  in  the  mysterious 
silences  of  green  and  woodland,  Nature  wove  her 
sweetest  spell,  and  upon  each  there  fell  the 
world-old  enchantment.  It  was  the  time  when 
Windsor  was  a  Castle  of  Anacreon.  The  terrace, 
with  its  festive  groups,  "  resembled  a  picture 
by  Watteau ;  the  courts  resounded  with  laughter, 
and  the  velvet  sod  of  the  Home  Park  was  as 
often  pressed  by  the  foot  of  frolic  beauty  as 
by  that  of  the  tripping  deer." 

Mulgrave  was  a  man  of  about  thirty,  the 
age  perhaps  most  dangerous  to  sixteen.  Thirty 
is  young  as  the  youngest,  and  withal  old  as 
Methuselah  to  a  girl  midway  in  her  teens.  She 
can  look  up  to  him  without  feeling  oppressed 
with  reverence.  If  in  docile  mood,  she  can 
approve  his  wisdom ;  if  it  be  her  hour  of 
petulance,  or  her  day  of  vixenish  crotchets, 
she  can  quarrel  with  him,  for  his  airs  have  not 
the  sanction  of  silver  locks.  His  wisdom,  in 
truth,  is  not  wisdom  at  all,  only  the  conceit 
of  a  youngster  who  has  climbed  in  red-hot  haste, 
just  a  little  in  advance  of  herself,  the  tree  of  the 

50 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  She  already  feels 
the  first  boughs  swaying  beneath  her  own  weight, 
and  with  pulses  bounding  to  this  novel  exhilara- 
tion she  dares  to  challenge  her  mentor. 

Mulgrave  was  a  favourite  officer  of  the  King's 
household.  He  had  qualities  which  made  him 
the  beau  ideal  of  a  Restoration  courtier.  Courts 
and  salons  and  battlefields  had  been  his  Univer- 
sity, but  he  was  also  something  of  a  scholar 
and  litterateur — qualities  which,  though  not 
superlative  credentials  in  Court  and  Society, 
were  nevertheless  invaluable  auxiliaries  where 
wit  and  grace  and  tact  were  the  passports  from 
obscurity  to  fortune. 

Mulgrave  had  donned  the  toga  at  an  early  age 
When  he  was  only  sixteen  he  had  borne  arms 
against  the  Dutch.  Having  proved  his  mettle, 
the  handsome  and  accomplished  youth,  conscious 
of  his  talents,  felt  it  would  be  a  crime  against 
Providence  to  lose  his  head  before  he  had  begun 
to  make  practical  use  of  its  manifold  resources. 
His  thirst  for  glory  temporarily  sated,  he  had 
forged  his  long  sword  into  a  dainty  Court  rapier, 
and  carved  a  road  for  himself  to  the  favour 
of  Charles  and  Royal  preferment. 

Mulgrave's  brief  courtship  of  Anne  was  not 
an  airy  castle  reared  for  the  dreaming  of  a 
spring-tide  dream.  It  was  a  century  when  a 
woman  was  old  at  twenty,  and  at  sixteen  she 

51 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  ready  to  be  won,  or  conquered,  or  captured. 
A  girl,  therefore,  was  little  more  than  a  child 
when  the  freedom  associated  with  childhood 
was  restrained.  To  pat  the  lass's  head  with  a 
patronising  hand  conveyed  a  desire  to  possess 
the  maiden's  own.  Beg  of  her  a  ringlet !  and 
her  pout  of  disdain  was  but  a  pretty  affectation, 
while  she  wondered  if  her  head  were  coveted 
as  well  as  the  tresses.  We  have  seen  how, 
when  Anne  was  only  nine,  she  was  launched 
into  the  vortex  of  gay  licentiousness.  The 
night  on  which  she  had  played  Nyphe  her  eyes 
must  have  been  opened  dimly  to  the  secrets 
which,  guarded  only  by  a  gossamer  veil,  are  the 
death  of  childhood's  innocence.  The  sighing, 
the  languishing  eyes,  the  honeyed  words,  the 
laughter  eloquent  of  the  arriere-pensee ',  the 
women's  comments  on  the  women,  the  flashes 
from  envious  eyes,  were  all,  no  doubt,  conned 
over  at  leisure  by  the  young  girl,  pieced  together, 
disordered  and  readjusted,  until  the  instinct  of 
womanhood  found  the  key  that  read  some 
glimmer  of  intelligence  into  it  all. 

Child  though  Nyphe  was,  she  must  have 
heard  her  companions  in  the  masque  talk  of 
Monmouth's  marriage  when  he  was  but  a  boy 
to  a  little  girl  of  about  his  own  age.  Monmouth's 
was  no  isolated  instance  of  such  boy-and-girl 
unions.  Had  Anne  any  doubts  as  to  their 

52 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

propriety  ?  Then  there  was  her  father,  wedded 
to  one  who  might  almost  be  his  granddaughter, 
though  he  was  still  a  young  man.  Was  she 
weak  in  arithmetic  ?  Perhaps ;  but  she  could 
easily  manipulate  the  simple  figures  which  proved 
her  more  nearly  a  match  for  Mulgrave  than 
Mary  of  Modena  was  for  His  Highness  her 
father. 

Finding  herself  at  Windsor,  where  every 
avenue  was  the  scene  of  some  courtier's  love 
suit,  Anne  would  have  been  more  or  less  than 
a  girl  did  she  not  roam  the  glorious  pleasaunces 
half-afraid,  and  half-praying,  that  in  every  copse 
there  tarried  the  lord  who  would  be  her  partner 
in  this  great  game,  of  which  the  King  was 
captain-general. 

Mulgrave,  looking  out  from  the  castle,  spied 
the  damsel  in  her  quest,  and  registered  the  vows 
for  which  in  a  little  while  he  was  to  do  penance. 
The  Earl,  who  was  a  devotee  of  the  Muse, 
especially  the  amorous  Muse,  might  have  quoted 
to  himself  amidst  the  conflagration  of  his  latest 
passion  the  poem,  three  centuries  old,  of  "  The 
King's  Quair,"  in  which  a  prisoner  at  Windsor, 
an  ancestor  of  Anne,  sang  of  his  love  for  a 
heroine  whose  blood  coursed  in  the  young 
princess's  veins.  The  prisoner  was  Prince  James 
of  Scotland,  and  his  divinity,  "  the  fairest  and 
freshest  younge  flower"  that  ere  he  saw.  was 

53 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Jane  of  Beaufort,  granddaughter  to  John  of 
Gaunt.  The  exquisite  naivetd  of  "  The  King's 
Quair  "  leaves  behind  a  fragrance  very  different 
from  that  of  Mulgrave's  sophisticated  lyre.  The 
kindly  fortune  which  had  smiled  on  the  captive 
prince's  suit  held  aloof  from  the  gallant  Earl 
who  laid  siege  to  Jane  of  Beaufort's  successor  in 
the  realms  of  romance,  with  the  complacency 
of  a  coxcomb,  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  defeat 
save  in  the  affairs  of  other  mortals. 

Greatly  daring  was  Anne  to  enter  such  lists. 
Feeble  was  the  resistance  she  could  make  to  so 
formidable  a  lover.  The  young  Earl  was  one  of 
the  handsomest  men  of  his  day.  His  features 
were  delicately  moulded,  his  face  of  a  regular 
oval,  while  his  expression  combined  the  most 
extraordinary  sweetness  with  a  lively  and 
penetrating  look,  indicative  in  some  degree  of 
his  clear  insight  into  affairs,  and  of  the  well- 
balanced  judgment  of  which  he  was  afterwards 
to  give  such  unmistakable  proofs.  A  more 
useful  ally  to  success  in  love  than  his  shrewd 
judgment  was  his  singularly  impressionable  and 
sympathetic  temperament.  "  I  was  angry  with 
you  a  moment  ago,"  he  would  say  to  his  servant. 
"  1  did  not  mean  half  what  I  said."  A  man 
capable  of  that  confession  had  mastered  the  art 
of  cajoling  men  into  loyalty  and  women  into 
love.  He  laughed  as  readily  as  a  school-girl, 

54 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  as  quickly  his  mood  changed  from  exu- 
berant gaiety  to  pensive  melancholy.  At  a 
tale  of  distress  the  tears  were  not  far  from  his 
eyes,  and  his  temper  was  roused  as  easily  as 
his  sympathies. 

But  no  man  dare  trifle  with  the  gentle  Earl. 
Without  a  trace  of  braggadocia,  he  was  ever 
ready  to  encounter  death  on  the  duelling  ground, 
or  relieve  the  monotony  of  a  sybarite's  days  with 
a  term  of  service  at  the  wars.  While  the 
lighter  qualities  of  his  nature  were  more  French, 
or  perhaps  Irish,  than  English,  he  was  on  his 
sterner  side  almost  the  typical  Briton  idealised 
n  song  and  story — a  man  of  strong  passions, 
without  a  spark  of  affinity  to  the  spiritual, 
practical  in  business,  sentimental  when  con- 
venient, ready  to  fight  if  action  were  demanded, 
and  quick  to  forgive,  especially  when  his  were 
the  winning  colours. 

When  once  Mulgrave  had  set  his  heart  on 
marrying  the  princess,  the  courtship,  we  may 
well  believe,  galloped  to  a  crisis.  Swiftly  those 
golden  days  fled  past ;  but  while  they  lasted 
there  was  dallying  in  the  glade  and  sauntering 
on  the  sward.  No  warder  ever  scanned  the 
landscape  more  keenly  than  did  Anne  from  the 
castle  casements  when  the  King  and  the  gentle- 
men went  a-hunting,  and  her  gallant  was  away. 
It  was  a  comedy  as  well  as  a  romance.  The 

55 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

tiny,  silken-sandled  feet  of  the  princess  often 
danced  impatiently  over  the  sloping  pastures, 
through  the  aisles  of  the  forest,  up  the  terraces 
and  down  the  terraces,  tingling  to  meet  him  and 
half  planning  flight  from  him. 

Sighing  to  be  courted,  she  the  while  played 
the  part  of  transparent  innocence  to  her  father 
and  step-mother,  and  the  sophisticated  ladies-of- 
honour,  to  whom  the  nervous  poise  of  her  head, 
the  unusual  fall  of  a  ringlet,  the  novel  challenge 
of  a  ribbon,  told  all  as  plainly  as  though  the 
idyll  were  written  in  black  and  white  amongst 
the  Castle  chronicles. 

These  same  ladies  must  have  been  rather 
provoking  personages  to  the  girl  in  love,  with 
their  music  and  their  embroideries,  and  their 
stupid  games.  A  plague  even  on  cards ! 
Hitherto  these  were  her  perpetual  delight.  They 
were  now  the  proper  distraction  of  aged  persons 
of  twenty  and  upwards,  but  only  penitential 
exercises  to  a  wiseacre  of  sixteen  who  had  been 
initiated  into  giddier  delights.  The  gossip  of  the 
dames,  a  little  while  ago  so  exciting,  was  now  in- 
expressibly tedious,  because  she  had  drawn  near 
to  the  fountain  of  their  most  piquant  stories,  to 
the  inspiration  of  their  most  significant  nods  and 
pauses,  to  the  object  of  their  gasps  of  indignation, 
and  the  author  of  their  wide-opened  eyes  of 
astonishment — his  Highness,  Manl 

56 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  one  fine  day  an  end  came  to  all  the 
pleasant  dalliance  in  the  glade  and  the  sauntering 
on  the  sward  with  her  Garter  Knight. 

The  King  spoke  one  little  word,  and  the 
castle  in  the  air  had  vanished ;  and  Anne,  self- 
appointed  maid-of-honour  to  the  Queen  of  the 
Fairies,  found  herself  leaden-footed  and  leaden- 
hearted,  a  love-sick  princess  of  a  prosaic  world. 

Sarah  Jennings  has  been  suspected  of  playing 
the  spy  upon  the  lovers.  It  has  been  said 
that  she  probably  showed  to  the  King  a 
billet-doux  passing  between  her  playfellow  of 
the  old  manor  house  at  Richmond,  and  Mul- 
grave.  It  is  likely  enough.  Sarah  was  not  a 
maiden  to  stick  at  a  nice  point  of  honour,  if 
her  interests  beckoned  her  along  a  contrary 
path.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that  zealous 
Royalists  were  not  wanting  to  prompt  Sarah 
to  treachery,  were  prompting  needed,  and  to 
devise  schemes  for  ensuring  that  the  course  of 
true  love  should  not  evade  its  legitimately 
rugged  course.  Mulgrave  possessed  too  many 
of  the  best  gifts  of  the  gods  not  to  be  coveted 
by  the  women  of  the  Royal  circle  and  envied  by 
the  men.  Jealous  courtiers  could  not  forgive 
him  that  he  was  so  pleasing  to  Charles.  Only 
one  woman  could  absolve  him,  and  she  would 
be  the  one  to  whom  he  made  love — in  this 
case  a  girl,  and  a  very  young  and  helpless  one. 

57 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Whoever  betrayed  the  lovers,  Charles  evinced 
his  gratitude  by  acting  with  the  promptitude  of 
a  guardian  caught  napping  in  the  hour  of  crisis. 
With  the  energy  that  His  Majesty  was  capable 
of  displaying  on  those  rare  occasions  when  he 
was  aroused  to  action,  he  destroyed  with  a  word 
the  pleasant  fabric  of  Mulgrave's  too  ambitious 
dreams. 

What  passed  between  Charles  and  his  gentle- 
man-of-the-bedchamber  would  be  a  dialogue  for 
gods  and  men  to  feast  on.  Mulgrave  was  afraid 
of  nothing  living,  not  even  of  the  King.  Charles, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  a  lively  horror  of  cutting 
a  ridiculous  figure.  Here  was  one  whose  wits 
were  sharper  than  his  own,  and  whose  nerves 
were  steadier.  Charles  would  sacrifice  every 
Stuart  save  himself  rather  than  be  laughed  at. 
How  the  Royal  fingers  must  have  tingled  to  box 
the  ears  of  the  froward  minx  who  had  contrived 
this  tragi-comic  tableau !  Not  that  the  pair 
were  without  his  pitying  contempt.  All  lovers 
had  that.  When  the  interview  was  over 
Mulgrave  was  no  longer  a  gentleman-of-the- 
bedchamber,  and  his  fate  was  a  warning  to  the 
other  courtiers  that,  though  Anne  was  willing 
to  be  wooed,  she  was  not  to  be  won  by  an 
Englishman. 

Mulgrave's  punishment  was  a  heavy  one,  for 
he  was  deprived  of  all  his  honours.  As  a  sort 

58 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  left-handed  mark  of  the  King's  favour,  he 
was,  however,  given  a  command  from  which 
could  be  reaped  neither  glory  nor  profit,  but 
which  offered  some  promise  that  he  had  not 
alienated  for  ever  the  Royal  favour.  Tangier 
was  at  the  time  besieged  by  the  Moors,  and  to 
Mulgrave  was  entrusted  the  task  of  bringing 
relief  to  the  town.  The  expedition  was  in  some 
quarters  thought  to  be  specially  adapted  for  a 
destination  of  less  precise  latitude  and  longitude. 
Mulgrave's  ship  was  so  unseaworthy,  the  admiral 
at  Tangier  expressed  surprise  that  the  voyage 
had  ever  been  accomplished.  Mulgrave  himself 
seems  to  have  shared  in  the  surprise.  Amongst 
his  officers  was  the  young  Earl  of  Plymouth, 
one  of  Charles's  favourite  sons ;  but,  notwith- 
standing his  presence,  Mulgrave  pointedly  re- 
frained from  the  usual  loyal  compliment  of 
drinking  the  health  of  His  Majesty  nightly.  He 
reserved  this  pleasure  for  a  later  occasion,  when 
he  trusted  that  the  kindness  of  the  elements 
would  enable  him  to  drink  to  His  Majesty  with 
more  sincere  devotion  than  he  could  possibly 
feel  when  exposed  to  grievous  peril  on  his 
august  sovereign's  most  rotten  ship.  That 
Charles  was  aware  of  the  condition  of  the  hulk 
in  which  the  disgraced  Earl  was  sent  into  exile 
is,  however,  most  unlikely.  The  presence  of 
Plymouth  forbids  the  notion.  Nor  is  there  the 

59 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

least  reason  to  suppose  that  Mulgrave  held  the 
King  to  blame  for  the  danger  thus  thrust 
upon  him.  The  contempt  which  he  showed  for 
etiquette,  by  banning  the  loyal  toast,  was  meant, 
doubtless,  as  the  straightforward  retort  for  in- 
juries received  of  a  devil-may-care  English  earl 
to  a  king  whom  he  half-liked  and  half-despised. 

During  the  voyage  to  Tangier  Mulgrave's 
chief  distraction  was  writing  poetry,  if  poetry 
much  of  it  might  be  called.  But  he  wrote, 
we  may  believe,  as  he  thought,  as  he  spoke, 
as  he  lived.  To  know  this  lover  of  Anne  in 
her  teens — her  uncle's  boon  companion,  her 
father's  cynical  friend,  faithful  to  a  point,  her 
brother-in-law's  creditor  for  timely  service,  her 
own  staunch  friend  from  her  Coronation  to  the 
desolate  morning  when  she  took  leave  of  earth 
at  Kensington — is  to  know  the  England  of  his 
long,  careless,  selfish  day,  and  why  its  destiny 
took  the  shape  it  did.  Here  is  the  candid 
avowal  of  the  lawless  law  that  was  the  rule  of 
life  for  men  and  women  of  fashion  of  the  sphere 
in  which  he  loved  to  shine : 

Our  appetites  are  Nature's  laws,  and  giv'n 
Under  the  broad,  authentic  seal  of  Heav'n. 
Let  pedants  wrangle,  and  let  bigots  fight 
To  put  restraint  on  innocent  delight ; 
But  Heav'n  and  Nature's  always  in  the  right. 
They  would  not  draw  poor  wretched  mortals  in, 
Or  give  desires  that  shall  be  doomed  to  sin. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  philosophy  of  such  a  sybarite  could 
extract  from  disgrace  and  exile  no  compensa- 
tions. His  was  an  intellect  in  which  all  third- 
rate  qualities  blended  harmoniously,  and  were 
refined  to  the  highest  polish.  But  at  no  point 
did  he  touch  the  heroic.  He  was  a  soldier, 
but  no  general ;  a  thinker,  but  his  trade  was 
in  other  men's  ideas ;  a  politician,  but  no  states- 
man. His  morals  constituted  studious  care  of 
his  health,  and  his  religion  was  that  of  Nature 
interpreted  through  his  appetites.  Within  a  brief 
space  the  Royal  anger  was  appeased,  and  Mul- 
grave  was  back  once  more  in  England  in  the 
enjoyment  of  all  his  old  honours.  Never  again 
was  he  condemned  to  expiate  a  sin  against 
Royalty.  He  had  taken  his  last  risk  in  love 
and  war.  Henceforth  the  colours  of  his  supreme 
devotion  were  those  of  the  House  of  Mulgrave. 
His  cool  and  cynical  judgment  enabled  him 
not  only  to  hold  his  ground,  but  to  improve 
it  in  the  face  of  the  most  embarrassing  com- 
plications. 

James  II.  made  him  a  Privy  Councillor  and 
Lord  Chamberlain.  At  the  Revolution  his 
sympathies  were  with  James,  but  never  so 
ardently  as  with  himself.  They  therefore  attached 
him  to  the  party  that  suited  the  convenience 
of  a  nobleman  who  disliked  enforced  residence 
abroad.  His  good  fortune  threw  in  his  way  an 

61 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

opportunity  of  saving  the  Spanish  Ambassador's 
life  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  which  attended 
James's  flight.  His  resourcefulness  secured  for 
him  the  thanks,  not  only  of  James,  but  the 
gratitude  of  William.  His  crowning  honour 
came  appropriately  from  his  lady-love  of  the 
old  Windsor  romance.  When  Anne,  a  sedate 
young  matron,  ascended  the  Throne,  she  made 
her  old  cavalier  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire ; 
not  that  his  grace  had  earned  such  advance- 
ment by  his  tender  constancy  to  the  sentiment 
which  had  brought  him  to  her  feet  in  her 
girlhood. 

Far,  indeed,  from  permitting  his  heart  to 
wither,  a  sorrowful  tribute  on  the  shrine  of  a 
hopeless  passion,  Mulgrave  has  earned  immor- 
tality amongst  the  poets  as  the  gayest  apologist 
of  Inconstancy.  A  woman  can  never  perhaps 
smile  with  unalloyed  pleasure  at  the  memory 
of  a  first  love  rudely  blighted.  But  the  wound 
had  cut  deep  into  Anne's  heart,  if  she  was 
not  diverted  by  the  Earl's  witty  and  impudent 
defence  of  his  adventures  in  the  field  of 
gallantry.  Perhaps,  indeed,  she  recognised  in 
the  lines  the  merry  scorn  of  one  who,  in  a 
playful  way,  could  not  quite  forgive  her  that 
she  too  lived,  like  himself,  to  enjoy  life,  when 
she  ought  to  have  languished  and  died  for  love 
of  him  !  Perhaps,  with  a  woman's  faculty  for 

62 


From  nn  engravii 


JOHN   SHEFFIELD,   EARL   OF  MULGEAVE,   LATER  DUKE   OF 
BUCKINGHAMSHIRE. 


p.  62. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

divining  such  secrets,  she  read  in  the  poem 
his  answer  to  some  beauty's  sighs,  who  feared 
lest  one  who  had  so  easily  consoled  himself 
for  the  loss  of  a  princess  would  lightly  cast 
aside  a  charmer  of  simpler  station.  If  the 
"  Glorianna "  of  the  Earl's  verses  was  indeed 
but  another  name  for  Anne,  one  can  imagine 
how  half-amused,  half-vexed,  wholly  sorry  at 
having  been  cheated  of  so  clever,  so  tantalising, 
so  audacious  a  lover,  she  read  these  lines  : 

I  must  confess  I  am  untrue 

To  Glorianna's  eyes, 
But  he  that's  smiled  upon  by  you 

Must  all  the  world  despise. 

In  winter  fires  of  little  worth 

Excite  our  dull  desire, 
But  when  the  sun  breaks  kindly  forth 

Those  fainter  flames  expire. 

Then  blame  not  me  for  slighting  now 

What  I  did  once  adore, 
O  !  do  but  this  one  change  allow 

And  I  can  change  no  more. 

Fixed  by  your  never-failing  charms 

Till  I  with  age  decay; 
Till  languishing  within  your  arms 

I  sigh  my  soul  away. 

Against  so  airy  a  traitor  it  was  not  possible 
to  cherish  anger,  and  Anne,  always  his  friend, 
as  he  was  always  hers,  had  the  satisfaction  of 

63 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

seeing  three  ladies  fill  in  succession  the  place 
on  Mulgrave's  hearth  he  had  designed  for  her. 
One  of  these  was  her  half-sister,  Catherine 
Darnley,  daughter  of  Catherine  Sedley,  Countess 
of  Dorchester  and  James  II.  Never  had  a 
man  more  excellent  wives,  according  to  the 
last  will  and  testament  of  this  genial  epicure. 
But  Anne  was  spared  the  mortification  of 
learning  how  supremely  blessed  in  his  choice 
of  partners  was  one  whom  she  might  not  bless 
herself;  for  Mulgrave  lived  far  into  the  Georgian 
period,  and  when  his  will  was  opened  the  princess 
of  the  Windsor  idyll  was  no  more. 


64 


Dans  1'age  ou  Ton  est  aimable 

Rien  n'est  si  beau  que  d'aimer, 
Soupirez  librement  pour  un  amant  fidele, 

Et  bravez  ceux  qui  voudraient  vous  blamer. 

A  T  the  Court  of  St.  James's  the  ladies  sighed 
-*--^-  not  less  ardently  to  be  loved  than  at 
Fontainebleau.  Charles  was  the  gayest  patron 
in  Europe  of  the  mischievous  god.  To  him 
there  was  indeed  no  other  god  worthy  of  Royal 
incense.  It  was  his  frolics  which  made  the 
Court  move  to  the  tripping  measure  His  Majesty 
fancied.  But — there  was  the  exception  !  The 
loyal  sentiment  "  Soupirez  librement "  was  in 
one  gentle  breast  not  loyalty  at  all,  but  treason 
to  the  Crown.  To  the  maid  of  the  Blood 
Royal  was  accorded  merely  the  freedom  of  a 
novice,  who,  without  any  vocation  to  be  a  nun, 
had,  as  it  were,  to  wait  patiently  for  a  passport 
from  the  cloister  into  the  gay  world  whose 
laughter  rang  temptingly  in  her  ears,  while 
alluring  visions  haunted  her  isolation  of  girls 
of  her  own  age  being  wooed  and  won  by  for- 
bidden Man  !  The  princes,  her  kinsmen,  might 

VOL.    I  65  F 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

sigh  for  a  new  mistress  with  every  breath  ;  and 
by-and-by,  when  they  had  leisure,  and  events 
marched  agreeably,  they  would  lead  her  over 
the  Rubicon  to  some  half-unwilling  knight  flung 
in  her  way  by  the  caprice  of  Fortune. 

Mulgrave,  with  his  facile  temperament,  his 
grace,  his  tact,  his  worship  of  pleasure,  had  he 
been  chosen  as  the  Duke  of  York's  son-in-law, 
would  have  been  a  Stuart  of  the  Stuarts,  careless 
and  gay  as  the  King  himself.  But  a  voluptuary 
only  he  could  not  be,  and  while  devoting  himself 
to  his  Royal  Glorianna  with  what  constancy 
was  possible  to  his  inflammable  heart,  he  would 
have  fought  and  laughed  his  way  to  princely 
rank  in  the  magnificent  game  of  politics,  whose 
leader  was  the  god  of  Versailles,  the  proudest 
prince  in  Europe,  Louis  Quatorze. 

The  treasury  of  romance  is  the  poorer  by  a 
rare  jewel  that  Anne  had  not  the  spirit  to  brave 
them  all  and  fly  with  her  lover !  Charles  would 
have  been  angry  for  a  week  or  a  month ;  but, 
too  selfish  to  harrow  himself  with  an  emotion 
so  distressing,  the  lovers  would  soon  have  been 
received  back  into  Royal  favour.  But  Anne 
was  too  young  to  don  male  attire  and  ride  away 
to  her  cavalier,  like  her  ancestress  Arabella 
Stuart,  when  they  had  tried  to  rob  her  of  her 
Seymour.  The  fate  of  Arabella,  and  visions 
of  a  chilly  boudoir  in  the  Tower,  all  for  her 

66 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

own  pretty  self,  may  well  have  dissolved  Anne's 
courage  in  tears  ;  and  many  a  day,  weary  with 
disappointment,  rolled  by  before,  having  separated 
her  from  her  too  impetuous  lover,  they  gave 
her  in  exchange  a  husband. 

One  wonders  how  much  Anne  was  privileged 
to  know  of  the  comedy  which  made  her  Princess 
George  of  Denmark,  after  its  scenes  had  been 
played  out  on  the  broad  stage  of  Western 
Europe.  A  comedy  it  all  was,  with  humour 
of  the  most  subtle  delicacy.  This  Princess,  with 
the  soft,  round  cheeks,  and  the  luxuriant  brown 
hair,  and  the  gentle,  languishing  eyes  of  a  village 
Marguerite,  was  the  despair  of  kings  and  princes, 
bishops  and  diplomatists.  Many  a  weary 
minister,  when  exasperated  with  intrigues  of 
which  she  was  the  subject,  must  have  wished 
at  times  that  she  had  indeed  braved  those  who 
would  blame  or  punish  her,  and  ridden  away  with 
her  Mulgrave.  There  would  then  have  been  so 
many  knots  the  less  to  tie  and  untie  while  one's 
brain  whirled  and  one's  ringers  ached  curses. 

Of  the  players  in  the  game  that  had  for  its 
prize  the  selection  of  a  husband  for  Anne,  Louis 
Quatorze  was  the  one  whose  position  augured 
victory.  Louis  had  at  this  time  reached  the 
zenith  of  his  career.  In  war  and  peace  and 
diplomacy  he  had  triumphed.  The  subtle 
lessons  of  Mazarin  he  had  learned  well,  and 

67 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

applied  with  masterly  discretion.  Never  was 
there  a  pupil  more  apt  who  yet  perhaps  had 
no  spark  of  real  genius.  Charles  II.  had  learned 
at  his  Court  to  live  for  the  delights  of  the 
garden  of  Daphne  ;  but  he  disdained  the  other 
traits  of  Louis'  character — his  orderliness,  his 
industry,  his  readiness  to  leave  the  palace  for 
the  camp,  to  exchange  the  enchantment  of  the 
favourite  of  the  hour  for  the  thrill  of  battle. 

Louis  was  neither  a  great  soldier  nor  a  great 
statesman ;  but,  eager  to  be  both,  the  day  came 
when,  as  soldier  and  as  statesman,  he  had  won 
pre-eminence :  and  the  world  accepted  him 
for  what  he  would  be.  His  beloved  Versailles 
was  now  at  last  complete  ;  and  the  Court  of 
France,  a  world  to  itself,  peopled  with  beauties 
and  cavaliers  too  dainty  to  endure  the  manners 
of  Paris,  nursed  dreams  that,  strangely  enough, 
were  never  realised  by  the  Grand  Monarque, 
but  were  reserved  to  be  the  glory  and  the  ruin 
of  the  Corsican  emigrant  who,  poor  and  friend- 
less, saw  in  a  later  generation  the  Throne  of  the 
Bourbons  swamped  in  a  sea  of  blood. 

The  day  of  the  sweet  Valliere,  of  the  tyrant 
Montespan,  of  the  lovely  tigress  Fontanges 
was  at  the  time  of  which  we  write  past.  Louis 
was  no  longer  the  mettlesome  blade  who  had 
poured  out  rivers  of  gold  on  fetes  to  delight 
Valliere,  and  had  raced  the  winds  with  Fontanges 

68 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  the  delirium  of  the  chase  at  Fontainebleau.  It 
was  the  austere  repentant  Louis  who  had  fallen 
under  the  spell  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who 
one  day  recalled  the  existence  of  his  little 
English  friend  of  the  sixties,  the  old-time  guest 
of  the  lovely  Henrietta  of  Orleans  and  his 
brother  Philip.  .  .  .  Most  apropos,  Stuart 
demoiselle  !  To  the  devil  with  her  sister  Mary  1 
She  had  married  his  arch-enemy  Orange.  But 
Anne  remained ;  Heaven-sent  Anne !  She 
would  be  another  Jeanne  D'Arc,  not  a  Jeanne 
mounted  on  charger,  with  lance  in  rest  cheering 
his  troopers  onwards,  but  a  Jeanne  either  to  win 
towns  and  plains  for  him,  or  to  prevent  Orange 
from  winning  them,  by  bestowing  her  hand  on 
the  prince  approved  by  France. 

Louis  had  learnt  in  tears  that  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage  was  the  time  when  an  astute 
King  mapped  out  the  frontiers  of  his  future 
empire,  and  snatched  victories  that  reduced  his 
enemies  to  the  dust,  without  the  loss  of  a  man 
or  a  ducat.  He  had  been  obliged  to  master  that 
lesson  while  yet  the  fire  of  young  blood  made  it 
unendurably  bitter.  It  was  a  lesson  paid  for  in 
the  romance  of  his  early  youth.  Marie  Mancini, 
niece  of  Mazarin,  had  won  his  affections  when  he 
was  only  twenty-one,  and  piteously  as  ever  prince 
pleaded  for  his  life,  did  Louis  pray  the  Queen- 
mother,  Anne  of  Austria,  and  the  Cardinal,  for 

69 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

permission  to  follow  the  impulses  of  his  heart. 
But  in  vain  were  all  his  prayers,  and  Louis  had 
to  resign  his  beloved  Marie  for  a  bride  whose 
dowry  was  worthy  of  his  kingdom. 

If  Marie  Mancini  had  been  sacrificed  to  an 
ideal,  why  not  Anne  Stuart  ?  So  France  com- 
peted with  Spain  and  Austria  and  Holland  for 
the  privilege  of  presiding  at  the  sacrificial  altar. 
The  ambition  of  Louis  was  to  surmount  the 
Crown  of  France  with  the  Crown  of  the  Empire. 
The  policy  of  Austria  and  her  allies  was  to  thwart 
the  schemes  of  France,  and  their  ablest  instrument 
for  this  purpose  was  the  redoubtable  Orange. 
The  enmity  with  which  France  and  the  Austrian 
Empire  regarded  each  other  was  reflected  in  the 
policy  of  every  European  State.  So  powerful 
were  these  rivals  that  their  neighbours  should 
perforce  take  sides,  the  solitary  Power  which 
might  have  enjoyed  a  position  of  independence 
being  England.  Her  friendship  was  therefore 
a  boon  eagerly  coveted  by  the  continental 
princes.  Charles,  however,  had  to  meet  the 
demands  of  his  extravagant  seraglio,  and  was 
glad  to  barter  his  political  opportunities  for  a 
pension  from  Louis  and  the  favour  of  Louise  de 
Querouaille.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
English  king  had  to  experience  the  mortification 
of  seeing  his  niece  figuring  as  a  mere  pawn  in 
the  politics  of  foreign  States. 

70 


After  a  contemporary  picture. 
MADAME   DB   MAINTENON. 


p.  70. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

North  and  south,  east  and  west,  through 
Europe,  the  envoys  of  the  opposing  Courts 
posted  in  quest  of  princes  agreeable  to  their 
policy,  who  might  be  put  forward  as  suitable 
aspirants  for  the  Royal  damsel.  But  a  famine 
had  fallen  upon  the  Continent,  and  eligible 
bachelors  grew  suddenly  scarce  and  of  great 
worth.  England  was  the  land  of  princely 
uncertainty.  Who  would  go  there  to  seek  an 
alliance  which  seemed  to  offer  some  prospect 
of  a  part  on  the  stage  of  another  tragedy  of 
Whitehall,  in  which  James  of  York  would  figure 
in  his  father's  place,  and  wise  Heaven  alone  could 
tell  what  distinction  on  that  day  of  wrath  would 
be  assigned  to  Anne's  husband  ! 

The  subtlest  schemer  in  this  elaborate  comedy 
of  matchmakers  was  William  of  Orange.  He 
had  married  Anne's  sister  Mary  in  defiance  of 
her  father,  almost  in  defiance  of  Charles,  although 
he  had  a  year  or  two  before  apparently  thrown 
away  his  chances  by  refusing  the  Princess's  hand. 
Bitterly  had  Mary  cause  to  regret  his  repentance 
of  his  first  scornful  rejection  ;  and  to  The  Hague 
Anne  could  always  turn  to  contemplate  in  its 
most  arid  desolation  married  misery.  William's 
signal  qualification  as  a  bridegroom  was  that  the 
bride's  family  were  afraid  of  him,  and  made  the 
mistake  of  supposing  that  an  uncousinly  cousin 
might  be  converted  to  a  more  affectionate  dis- 

71 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

position  by  forging  for  him  newer  and  closer  ties 
of  kinship. 

Mary's  departure  for  Holland  was,  for  the 
bride,  more  akin  to  a  funeral  than  a  wedding. 
It  was  indeed  a  festival  only  for  one  of  the 
maids-of-honour,  Mary's  old  playfellow  Elizabeth 
Villiers.  The  chivalry  of  this  brother-in-law,  who 
now  would  be  her  pilot  to  matrimonial  happiness, 
Anne  might  well  have  distrusted.  Louis  was  at 
least  a  connoisseur  of  the  beautiful  if  a  bad 
husband.  His  Paris  was  the  city  of  light. 
But  out  of  The  Hague  nothing  lovely  could 
come.  Better  to  be  another  Henrietta  of 
Orleans,  numbing  disappointment  with  the 
narcotic  of  pleasure,  than  a  Mary  of  Orange, 
sick  with  sorrow,  and  mooning  away  her  days 
under  the  frigid  rule  of  an  austere  Lothario  ! 

Just  as  the  fate  of  Arabella  Stuart  may  have 
deterred  her  from  eloping  with  Mulgrave,  so  the 
same  sad  story  may  well  have  made  Anne  rejoice 
that  William  was  not  the  absolute  master  of 
her  destiny.  Arabella  had  been  condemned  to 
celibacy  by  James  L,  who  feared  that  the 
unhappy  lady's  children  might  become  rivals  for 
the  Crown.  The  friendless  girl  was  imprisoned 
at  the  will  of  the  Sovereign,  while  the  noble  she 
dared  to  look  upon  with  favour  was  sent  to  the 
Tower.  When,  in  a  frantic  effort  to  secure 
liberty,  and  love,  and  the  joys  of  home  and 

73 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

husband,  the  girl  donned  doublet  and  hose,  and 
fled,  the  malice  of  the  King  pursued  her,  thwarted 
her,  and  brought  her  back  to  lifelong  imprison- 
ment and  to  madness  such  as  crazed  Ophelia ; 
until,  finally,  a  broken  heart  released  a  broken 
spirit,  and  Arabella  Stuart  passed  beyond  the  arm 
of  a  jealous  tyrant.  Just  as  James  I.  plundered 
Arabella's  life  of  all  that  a  woman  cherishes  most 
tenderly,  so  would  Anne  have  been  the  victim  of 
William,  had  she  been  at  his  mercy.  But,  luckily 
for  her,  his  power  was  not  in  proportion  to  his 
selfishness,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  impede 
the  negotiations  for  her  marriage,  and  stave  off 
as  long  as  possible  the  evil  day  of  the  nuptials. 

William  had  a  double  claim  upon  the  English 
throne,  through  his  mother,  the  sister  of  Charles  II., 
and  through  his  wife.  Amongst  the  neighbour- 
ing German  princes  there  was  one  too  with  Stuart 
blood  in  his  veins,  who  might  one  day  prove  a 
rival  to  William's  ambitions,  and  whose  choice 
of  a  wife  was  consequently  a  subject  that  caused 
profound  anxiety  to  the  beneficent  Dutchman. 
This  was  young  George  Louis  of  Hanover,  son 
of  the  Elector,  and  afterwards  George  I.  of 
England.  George  Louis  was  the  great  grandson 
of  James  I.  through  his  daughter  Elizabeth,  who 
had  married  Frederick  the  Elector-Palatine. 

George  Louis  was  in  1680  in  his  twentieth 
year,  and  already  a  young  profligate  for  whom 

73 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

his  mother  earnestly  desired  the  reforming 
influence  of  a  wife.  And  the  worthy  maiden 
Anne  Stuart  wanted  a  husband  !  Here  was  a 
prospect  irresistible  to  matchmakers,  who  would 
think  only  of  the  happiness  of  the  young  people. 
The  sanguine  thought  the  problem  of  Anne's 
future  solved,  and  other  problems  too,  which 
to  politicians  were  of  immeasurably  greater 
moment.  But  it  was  not  yet  the  hour  for 
optimism.  The  ever-vigilant  William  had  to 
guard  against  setting  up  a  rival  to  his  hopes ; 
and  Louis  Quatorze  had  to  look  forward  to 
George  Louis  in  a  dual  role — as  a  German 
ruler,  and  as  a  possible  king  of  England  mar- 
shalling his  twofold  strength  on  the  side  of  the 
Empire  against  France.  In  1680  the  young 
Hanoverian  paid  a  visit  to  The  Hague,  and 
shortly  afterwards  an  event  occurred  which 
foreshadowed  the  future  course  of  English  his- 
tory, though  none  were  so  blind  to  the  direction 
in  which  affairs  were  slowly  drifting  as  the 
personages  most  deeply  concerned. 

Up  the  Thames,  with  all  the  pomp  of 
mediaeval  pageantry,  to  visit  the  Court  at 
Whitehall  came  the  young  German  prince, 
who,  when  the  next  century  was  young,  was 
to  enter  London  as  the  founder  of  a  new 
dynasty,  the  first  Hanoverian  king.  George 
Louis  had  arrived  to  pay  his  devoirs  to  his 

74 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

English  kindred.  Such  was  the  formal  ex- 
planation of  his  coming.  But  a  motive  more 
tender  impelled  this  pilgrimage  to  a  land  that 
the  youth  had  learned  from  his  mother,  and  she 
from  his  grandmother,  to  regard  with  appre- 
hension. There  was  Anne !  And  he  kissed 
her  before  all  the  Court,  while  the  King  and 
the  courtiers  looked  on  at  this  meeting,  which 
promised  to  weld  together  two  branches  of  the 
Stuarts  in  a  fashion  little  to  the  taste  of  Orange. 
George  was  apparently  well  pleased  with  his 
English  relatives,  and,  above  all,  with  his  young 
cousin  of  York.  King  Charles  spared  no  pains 
to  make  himself  agreeable  to  his  German  kins- 
man, and  the  wiseacres,  putting  their  heads 
together,  already  began  to  talk  of  a  Royal  en- 
gagement. The  Prince  was  only  twenty,  so 
that  in  years  he  was  more  a  match  for  Anne 
than  was  William  for  her  sister  Mary,  who 
was  her  husband's  junior  by  about  a  dozen  years. 
In  his  case,  however,  time  hardly  mattered. 
His  heart  was  never  young ;  nor  had  his  spirits 
ever  the  buoyancy  of  youth.  Not  all  the  British 
Court,  however,  watched  with  sympathy  the 
young  German's  coldly  diplomatic  wooing.  Of 
his  foes  the  chief  were  the  King's  son,  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth,  and  the  Earl  of  Danby. 
What  Monmouth  wished  was  but  an  echo  of 
craftier  minds,  who  employed  his  vanity  to  his 

75 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

undoing.  Danby's  policy  was,  however,  iden- 
tical with  that  of  Orange,  who  has  been  blamed 
that  George  recrossed  the  seas  without  taking 
with  him  the  heart  of  the  Princess  of  York,  no 
longer  precious,  now  that  all  the  world  knew 
there  was  no  eager  rivalry  for  its  possession. 

That  kiss  which  had  edified  the  Court  was 
left  to  Anne  only  as  a  bitter  remembrance  of 
a  mortifying  episode.  George  departed  from 
Whitehall  without  making  any  sign.  He  had 
had  enough  of  England  and  its  Royal  Family, 
and  would  bestow  his  affections  on  one  who,  did 
she  but  know  it,  was  more  unfortunate  than  the 
forlorn  Lady  Anne ;  and  she  must  have  begun 
to  repine  that  for  an  English  princess  there 
was  the  asylum  of  no  sequestered  cloister,  where, 
if  suitors  there  were  none,  there  would  at  least 
be  peace.  Whatever  the  share  of  blame  that 
properly  belonged  to  Orange,  of  George  himself 
it  was  probably  true  that  he  disliked  the  notion 
of  being  drawn  into  the  affairs  of  a  country 
where,  in  Court  and  Parliament,  chaos  reigned. 

Between  him  and  King  Charles  there  was  no 
affinity,  still  less  had  he  anything  in  common 
with  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  York.  Above 
all,  Anne  knew  nothing  of  his  beloved  Hanover, 
ignorance  that  might  in  George's  eyes  have 
damned  the  fairest  maid  in  all  England.  So 
back  he  went  to  his  home,  the  Man  of  Destiny, 

76 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

who  would  return  thirty  years  afterwards  to 
assume  the  Crown  for  which  the  Lady  Anne,  the 
rejected  of  his  youth,  had  by  a  strange  vagary  of 
fortune  sinned  and  suffered  to  endow  him  ! 

Two  years  rolled  on.  One  German  prince 
after  another  was,  in  this  quarter  or  that,  pro- 
posed as  a  candidate  for  Anne's  hand.  But  for 
this  reason  one  was  rejected,  for  that  reason  the 
other.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  insincerity  and 
make-believe,  well  might  Anne  have  begged  of 
all  her  gods  to  revive  her  passion  for  basset 
and  lansquenet,  that  she  might  not  die  of  a 
broken  heart,  with  gay  and  handsome  fellows 
around  her,  ready  to  console  her  if  only  they 
dared,  or  rather  if  only  she  dared  to  flash  upon 
them  the  glance  of  invitation  or  acquiescence. 

For  a  space,  brief  and  brilliant,  Anne's  name 
was  coupled  with  the  chivalrous  Charles  XI.  of 
Sweden.  But  Louis  had  other  designs  for  Sweden 
than  a  marriage  which  might  well  alter  the  whole 
current  of  European  history  ;  and  Orange  would 
probably  have  resorted  to  desperate  expedients  to 
prevent  a  union  which  would  have  imperilled  the 
fair  edifice  of  his  hopes.  It  looked,  indeed,  in 
these  gloomy  days  as  though  the  best  prince  she 
would  ever  possess  would  be  the  king  of  trumps 
at  the  card-table,  and  that  Orange  would  enjoy 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  young  sister-in-law 
glide  into  the  slough  of  confirmed  spinsterhood. 

77 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  at  last  Anne  was  led  over  the  Rubicon  to 
the  unknown  knight,  who  proved  to  be  George 
of  Denmark.  His  highness  was  insignificant 
amongst  princes.  But  amongst  husbands  of  his 
day  he  earned  a  sort  of  canonisation  ;  for  of  all 
the  tears  that  Anne  shed — and  her  life  was  brim- 
ful of  sorrow — not  one  could  be  charged  to  his 
account.  Orange  hated  him,  perhaps  for  no 
better  reason  than  that  George  regarded  him 
with  awe.  The  Dane  was  a  strapping  soldier, 
as  weak  in  intellect  as  he  was  gigantic  in  physique ; 
as  brave  as  a  lion  in  battle,  but  with  that  dread 
of  the  contempt  of  sharper  wits  which  some  dull 
fellows  are  intelligent  enough  to  feel.  George 
possessed  no  quality  of  head  which  could  appeal 
to  the  fragile  Dutchman ;  and  qualities  of  heart 
had  little  attraction  for  one  whose  schemes  and 
ambitions  were  bounded  by  no  vestige  of  scruple. 
He  did  his  best  to  have  the  marriage  abandoned, 
and  nominated  the  Electoral  Prince  of  Branden- 
burg as  a  substitute  for  the  honour.  But  Charles 
was  weary  of  William  and  of  his  Machiavellian 
proposals.  France  was  satisfied  with  the  Prince 
of  Denmark,  and  the  bargain  was  struck. 

Thus  ended  the  long-drawn-out  comedy,  and 
the  part  for  which  she  had  been  cast  by  destiny 
was  assigned  to  Anne  of  York,  who,  in  July 
1683,  in  her  nineteenth  year,  became  the  bride  of 
a  Royal  moss-trooper. 

78 


CHAPTER  VI 

day  was  gone,  the  day  of  dazzling 
brightness.  It  was  night,  and  the  King 
slept,  would  sleep  for  ever  1 

"  Poor  Nelly !  Don't  let  her  starve,"  were 
almost  the  last  words  Charles  uttered ;  these, 
and  an  apology  for  being  so  slow  in  dying. 
The  others  might  look  to  themselves,  Louise 
and  Barbara,  and  the  rest.  They  were  person- 
ages of  consideration  in  the  land,  who  met 
ministers  on  terms  of  equality,  and  boldly  threw 
themselves  into  the  war  of  factions ;  Louise 
daring  even  to  hope  that  her  son  might  oust 
the  Duke  of  York,  and  be  chosen  for  the  Crown. 

But  when  Charles  breathed  his  last,  a  strange 
paralysis  seized  the  factions.  The  King  was 
dead  and  the  King  lived ;  not  Monmouth,  or 
Richmond,  or  Orange,  but  James  of  York. 
Without  a  murmur,  courtesans  and  courtiers, 
they  all  saluted  him  as  their  Sovereign.  Dis- 
loyalty was  dumb. 

Within  these  last  few  hours  James  had 
risked  much  in  an  adventure  for  his  dying 

79 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

brother's  sake,  an  adventure  undertaken  for  the 
King's  soul,  that  recalled  some  forty  years 
before,  when  the  life  of  Charles  was  saved  at 
Boscobel,  as  flying  from  his  enemies  after  the 
battle  of  Worcester  destruction  threatened  him. 
The  oak-tree  at  Boscobel  that  hid  the  fugitive 
Prince  in  its  loyal  bosom  was  a  familiar  friend 
to  one,  who  often  in  these  days  of  religious 
persecution  stood  in  need  of  such  a  retreat. 
This  was  Father  Huddlestone,  a  Benedictine 
monk.  The  monk  and  the  oak  saved  the  Prince 
after  the  calamity  of  Worcester. 

Then  the  storm  passed  ;  and  the  Prince  forgot 
the  priest,  and  thought  but  little  of  the  oak-tree 
that  preserved  him  for  the  dignity  of  a  throne 
and  the  joyous  years  of  a  despotism  of  pleasure. 
But  at  last  the  clouds  gathered  again.  The 
affrighted  Prince  turned  to  the  hour-glass.  Alas  ! 
these  silent  sands  trickling  to  the  final  grain 
afforded  no  solace.  It  was  another  more  terrible 
Boscobel ;  for  it  was  for  him  the  very  end  of  the 
world.  Oh  for  the  gentle  Huddlestone  and  the 
kindly,  loyal  oak  !  With  that  appeal  in  the  dying 
man's  heart,  the  Arch-Magician  willed  a  miracle  ; 
and  lo!  here  was  Huddlestone  on  his  knees  be- 
side the  bed  of  the  reprobate  King,  just  as 
though  all  the  intervening  years  had  been  but  a 
dream,  and  Whitehall,  the  home  of  the  gallant 
Pendrills,  close  by  the  woodlands  of  Boscobel. 

80 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Little  wonder  the  fascination  of  the  Stuarts 
subdues  each  succeeding  generation,  when  Heaven 
itself  transformed  the  death-chamber  of  its  most 
cynical  prince  into  the  very  alembic  of  romance. 

When  by  a  secret  door  the  Benedictine  entered 
the  bedroom  of  the  expiring  monarch,  the  drama, 
the  tragedy  of  realism,  achieved  its  purest 
triumph.  Little  had  Charles  recked  about  the 
mysteries  of  eternity  while  bright  eyes  warmed 
his  vagabond  blood.  And  now,  in  his  supreme 
need,  Louise  de  Querouaille,  his  favourite  com- 
panion, was  disconsolate,  not  for  losing  her  Royal 
lover,  but  lest  her  lover  should  lose  his  soul. 
Most  precious  soul  now  to  one  hitherto  greedy 
only  for  honours  and  gold !  Fools  and  children, 
with  some  faint  spark  of  saintship  in  the  midst 
of  all  their  devilry,  these  mortals  be  !  Louise  it 
was  who  sent  to  James,  begging  that  he  should 
get  a  confessor  for  the  dying  man.  James 
hurried  to  his  brother's  bedside,  around  which 
crowded  a  number  of  those  entitled  to  the  entre'e. 
Whispering  in  the  ear  of  the  King,  James  in- 
quired if  Louise's  message  were  really  a  mandate 
from  the  Sovereign. 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  answered  Charles,  who 
feared,  however,  that  his  brother  would  incur 
grievous  peril  by  obeying  his  behest. 

"  Though  it  cost  me  my  life,  I  will  bring  your 
Majesty  a  priest,"  was  the  reply  of  the  soldierly 

VOL.    1  81  G 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

duke  who,  on  the  threshold  of  his  new  honours, 
was  yet  ready  to  take  a  risk,  which  might  well 
have  lost  him  the  Crown. 

Hither  and  thither  the  Royal  messengers 
hurried  through  London,  scouring  the  town  for 
a  priest,  but  no  priest  could  be  found  to  shrive 
the  dying  monarch  ;  and  it  seemed  as  though 
Charles  were  doomed  to  pass  away,  unfulfilled  the 
last  desire  of  a  heart  that  had  worshipped  in 
Desire  its  lord  and  its  god.  Then  by  sublime 
coincidence  the  venerable  Huddlestone  appeared 
on  the  scene  ;  and  the  oak-tree  episode  that  had 
followed  the  fight  and  disaster  of  Worcester 
became  an  allegory,  a  prophetic  symbol,  that 
was  accomplished  in  the  death-bed  repentance 
of  a  rake  whose  sins,  and  selfishness,  and  dying 
act  of  contrition,  and  one  knows  not  what  else  it 
may  be,  lend  to  his  memory  a  charm  that  is 
immortal. 

A  young  married  lady  living  at  the  Cockpit  in 
Whitehall  was  an  agitated,  and  not  altogether 
friendly,  observer  of  the  altered  fortunes  of  James, 
Duke  of  York,  now  James  II.  The  lady  was 
the  Princess  Anne,  who  for  a  couple  of  years  had 
been  the  wife  of  Prince  George  of  Denmark. 

The  Princess  had  reached  her  twenty-first  year 
when  King  Charles  died.  Life  at  the  Cockpit 
should  have  been  a  happy  one  for  a  young  woman 
of  larger  mind  and  livelier  affection  for  her 

82 


From  a  photo  l>y  Eini-ry  Walker,  afti'r  the  painiini;  by  P.  Miininnl  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 
THK   DUCHESS  OP   PORTSMOUTH, 

LOUISE   RENEE   DE  PENENCOURT   DE   QUEROUAILLE. 

p.  82. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

kindred  than  Anne  cherished.  Her  income  was 
magnificent,  her  fortune  was  without  a  shadow, 
her  home,  if  dull  when  compared  with  Whitehall 
or  St.  James's  Palace,  was  at  least  not  marred  by 
a  husband's  infidelities.  But  Anne  was  not  at 
peace  with  herself.  A  strange  spirit  of  unrest 
had  taken  possession  of  her,  filling  her  with 
ambition  and  impatience.  The  way  of  the  Stuarts 
was  not  her  way  at  all.  With  all  their  faults, 
that  unfortunate  dynasty  always  expected  loyalty 
from  its  members,  and  found  it.  James  himself 
was  one  of  the  most  bitterly  persecuted,  but  one 
of  the  most  faithful  subjects  of  the  King.  There 
was  chivalry  and  profligacy  and  prodigality  in  the 
veins  of  their  men  and  women.  But  they  loved 
splendour  and  pleasure  rather  than  power.  They 
had  no  Richard  of  Gloucester,  no  Henry  Tudor. 
Their  jealousies  were  not  about  Crown  jewels, 
but  about  the  jewels  of  the  Court ;  and  in  nigh  a 
century  of  English  sovereignty  the  race  had  so 
far  bred  no  usurper. 

One  reviews  the  gallery  of  them  all,  and  finds 
there  none  like  Anne.  Most  of  her  defects,  and 
all  her  virtues,  were  from  her  mother ;  her  ambi- 
tions were  from  the  race  of  lawyers,  not  from  the 
race  of  kings.  Instead  of  revelling  in  youth  and 
rank  and  splendid  fortune,  Anne  despised  the 
honours  she  might  have  enjoyed,  and  in  secret 
hungered  for  those  to  which  her  father  had 

83 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

attained  after  long  years  of  suffering  and 
uncertainty. 

Differences  of  temperament  do  not  explain 
Anne's  want  of  affection  for  her  father,  nor 
yet  the  fact  that  her  grandfather  carried  "a 
green  bag  "  to  the  law-courts,  the  odour  of  which 
was  said  by  a  supersensitive  prince  to  cling  about 
the  person  of  her  mother !  It  would  be  a  mad 
world  indeed  were  parents  loved  only  by  children 
of  dispositions  congenial  to  their  own.  Nature 
had  apparently  implanted  in  Anne  no  sense  of 
duty,  and  art  had  done  nothing  to  fill  the  void. 
That  it  should  be  so  was  a  punishment  greater 
perhaps  than  James  merited  in  yielding  up  his 
right  to  be  master  of  the  destinies  of  his  children. 
It  was  only,  however,  after  her  marriage,  when 
entirely  removed  from  the  influence  of  the  gentle 
Mary  of  Modena,  that  malice  and  envy  began  to 
flourish  luxuriantly  in  the  young  Princess's  bosom. 
Surrounded  by  every  luxury  that  her  father  could 
provide,  his  generosity  seemed  only  to  inflame 
the  envy  which,  with  the  perfection  of  art,  was 
concealed  by  this  Royal  actress. 

The  Cockpit,  so  liberally  endowed  by  its 
mistress's  father,  was,  from  the  days  of  her 
honeymoon,  a  school  of  treason  towards  its 
paternal  benefactor.  In  this  respect  the  place 
was  but  preserving  its  traditions,  for  its  previous 
tenant  was  the  crafty  Danby,  ever  James's  foe. 

84 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  misfortunes  which  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  York  had  to  encounter  during  the  last  years 
of  Charles's  life  were  shared  by  Anne  until  the 
time  of  her  marriage.  She  was  a  partner  in 
their  exile,  and  in  sorrows  that  pressed  still 
more  heavily  upon  them  she,  too,  suffered,  and 
mingled  her  tears  with  theirs.  The  story  goes 
that  Anne  quarrelled  one  day  with  Mary  of 
Modena,  who,  they  say,  threw  a  glove  in  her 
stepdaughter's  face.  Mary  was  proud  and  quick- 
tempered, but  it  is  unlikely  that  she  ever  mani- 
fested resentment  in  a  manner  so  undignified,  least 
of  all  to  one  whom  she  desired  to  love,  if  only 
that  she  might  promote  her  husband's  happiness. 

Buoyant  spirits  and  a  lively  wit  were  natural  to 
Mary  before  sorrow  had  crushed  her  to  the  dust, 
and  strange  would  it  be  if  such  qualities  did 
not  attract  Anne  to  one  but  little  older  than 
herself,  who,  moreover,  in  loving  her,  possessed 
the  key  to  her  heart.  The  key,  indeed,  to  all 
hearts  was  the  young  Italian's  in  the  early 
days  of  her  married  life,  and  even  her  imperfec- 
tions were  those  which  might  be  readily  forgiven 
by  a  spirited  people  who,  slow  to  evince  emotion 
themselves,  readily  excuse  the  lapses  of  warmer 
natures. 

Excessive  pride  of  birth  was,  it  would  seem, 
a  blemish  in  Mary's  character,  if  we  may  judge 
of  her  by  an  anecdote  in  which  the  famous 

85 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

General  Dalziel  made  her  smart  for  her  in- 
ordinate esteem  of  the  Estes.  James  had  invited 
the  General  to  dinner,  but  Mary  thought  the 
gallant  officer's  rank  hardly  warranted  this 
honour.  Unluckily  for  her,  Dalziel  arrived 
just  as  she  was  debating  with  her  husband  the 
etiquette  of  Royal  hospitality. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  great  man,  blind  to  the 
drollery  of  such  a  welcome,  "  I  have  dined  at  a 
table  where  your  father  stood  behind  my  back  ! " 

The  General's  allusion  was  to  the  time  when 
he  served  in  the  Imperial  army  and  dined  in 
state  with  the  Emperor,  while  the  Duke  of 
Modena  attended  as  vassal  of  His  Majesty.  The 
incident  may  have  had  no  better  foundation 
than  the  wit  of  some  admirer  of  Dalziel's,  or 
some  enemy  of  Mary's.  If  Mary  was  proud  of 
her  lineage,  Anne  was  hardly  less  disposed  to 
exaggerate  the  dignity  of  the  Blood  Royal,  so 
that  even  their  foibles  should  have  tended  to 
promote  that  harmony  which  stern  circumstances 
conspired  to  warm  into  tenderness  and  sympathy 
and  affection. 

During  the  years  immediately  preceding 
James's  accession,  alarms  and  anxieties  continu- 
ally disturbed  the  Duke  of  York's  household, 
welding  its  members  more  closely  together,  and 
obliging  its  ladies  to  discover  in  each  other's 
society  the  solace  and  courage  so  grateful  to  the 

86 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

strong  and  tried,  and  so  indispensable  to  the 
young  neophyte  in  the  hard  school  of  fortitude. 
Anne  had  to  lean  on  Mary.  Mary  was  glad  to 
confide  in  Anne.  Then  there  came  babes,  to 
link  these  two  by  ties  deeper  than  friendship, 
deeper  than  those  forged  by  affliction.  Above 
all,  there  was  Isabelle,  the  little  sister  who  entered 
Anne's  life  to  comfort  her  for  the  loss  of  the  one 
whom  Orange  had  carried  off  to  The  Hague. 
Anne's  religion  was,  it  is  true,  almost  a  certain 
shield  for  her  in  the  midst  of  the  strife  of  con- 
tending factions.  But  however  precocious  Anne 
may  have  been  as  a  very  young  girl  in  her 
father's  home,  she  could  nevertheless  have  had 
but  a  faint  understanding  of  the  wheels  within 
wheels  of  intrigue  which  tended  to  make  her 
secure  amidst  all  the  perils  which  threatened 
her  parents.  That  ambition  for  the  Crown, 
which  later  gained  complete  mastery  over  her, 
devouring  every  finer  feeling,  and  effacing  the 
memory  of  the  kindness  lavished  on  her  by  the 
impulsive  and  warm-hearted  Italian,  until  it 
became  a  consuming  passion,  raised  no  barrier 
between  the  child  and  the  child-wife.  It  was 
only  after  her  marriage  that  her  eyes  were  fully 
opened  to  the  dazzling  future  which  the  confu- 
sion of  the  times  opened  up  to  her,  and  that  she 
consented  to  dally  with  the  splendid  temptation 
which  wrought  for  her  so  much  misery. 

87 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Anne's  heart  would  have  been  that  of  no 
ordinary  child  did  she  shed  no  bitter  tears  when, 
in  1679,  she  saw  her  home  broken  up,  and  the 
pleasant  music  and  games  of  St.  James's  ex- 
changed for  exile  in  Brussels.  Her  father  and 
stepmother  were  ordered  out  of  the  kingdom 
by  the  monarch,  who  was  powerless  to  protect 
his  brother  and  sister-in-law  from  the  popular 
clamour  aroused  by  their  adherence  to  the 
Catholic  religion.  Anne  and  her  little  five-year- 
old  sister  were  not  at  first  permitted  to  accom- 
pany their  parents,  but  were  condemned  to  the 
loneliness  of  a  home  from  which  had  departed 
all  that  lent  it  warmth  and  light.  But  the  State 
itself  was  not  cruel  enough  to  continue  for  long 
the  punishment  of  the  Royal  children.  Anne 
and  little  Isabelle,  after  a  time,  were  permitted 
to  join  their  parents  abroad.  But  the  grief  of 
that  separation  was  not  easily  obliterated  from 
the  younger  child's  memory. 

Nor  could  Anne  have  quickly  forgotten  the 
despair  of  the  little  one,  to  whom  every  day  was 
a  year  until  she  was  united  once  more  to  her 
adoring  mother.  All  too  brief,  however,  was 
that  union.  James  hastened  from  Brussels  to 
London  to  see  the  King,  who,  being  ill,  secretly 
desired  his  presence.  Pleased  as  he  was  to  greet 
his  brother,  he  was  nevertheless  obliged  to  order 
him  again  out  of  London,  but  this  time  he 

88 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

tempered  the  mandate  by  allowing  him  to  reside 
in  Edinburgh.  Now  was  the  crown  of  the 
vicissitudes  of  those  bitter  days  at  hand.  James 
conveyed  his  family  from  the  Continent,  and, 
leaving  Anne  and  Isabelle  at  St.  James's,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  set  out  for  Scotland.  Only 
once  again  did  they  see  the  younger  child  ;  this 
was  when  they  came  south  for  a  brief  space, 
taking  advantage  of  a  lull  in  the  storm  that 
raged  round  them. 

Isabelle,  stricken  down  with  illness  amidst  the 
frigid  grandeur  of  St.  James's  Palace,  begged  in 
vain  for  her  parents.  For  the  soft  music  of  her 
mother's  voice  she  strained  her  ears,  and  on  her 
pillow  fell  the  hot  tears  of  impatient  childhood, 
impatient  for  the  caresses  of  her  father.  It  was 
the  depth  of  winter,  and  the  end  had  already 
come  when,  over  the  frozen  roads,  the  post 
reached  Edinburgh  that  told  of  the  lonely 
chamber  of  sickness  and  tears,  and  a  child's 
futile  prayers  in  the  grim  palace  far  away  to 
the  south.  Without  a  mother's  hand  to  smooth 
her  bed,  and  soothe  her  spirit  with  whispered 
legends  of  angel  choirs  and  thrones  of  lily  and 
gold,  little  Isabelle's  heart  ceased  its  longing, 
and  the  baby  fingers  groped  no  more  for  the 
shelter  of  the  loving  arms  in  which  she  would 
nestle  to  die. 

In  the  gloomy  palace,  alone   with  the  dead 

89 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

ledge  affected  the  girl  towards  him  we  know  not, 
but  if  her  own  life  may  be  taken  as  a  criterion  of 
her  feelings,  they  would  be  those  of  deep  re- 
pulsion. Anne  was,  it  has  been  said,  no  true 
Stuart.  In  nothing  was  she  less  a  Stuart  than 
in  affairs  of  the  heart,  and  it  is  at  least  possible 
that  she  first  learned  to  hate  her  father  because 
of  that  weakness  of  character  which  never  spared 
her  mother  from  humiliation,  and  never  spared 
her  own  pride  a  wound.  Incapable  at  once  of 
being  either  a  great  sinner  or  a  great  saint,  no 
kindly  intuition  helped  Anne  to  forgive  all  by 
teaching  her  to  understand  and  to  know  all. 

It  was  the  age  when  morals  were  for  the 
halt,  the  blind,  the  maimed,  the  lowly.  They 
had  no  concern  with  princes.  It  was  Madame 
de  Maintenon  who  begged  Louis  Quatorze  to 
be  kind  to  his  wife ;  it  was  from  his  sister 
that  Charles  II.  begged  as  a  gift  Louise  de 
Querouaille.  James  was  in  this  respect  the 
peer  of  his  brother  princes  of  Europe.  In 
London  there  was  during  his  youth  no  gayer 
spark  than  he,  and  the  jealous  husband  watched 
with  terror  the  direction  of  his  favours.  Some 
of  his  earlier  adventures  were  the  laugh  of  the 
town,  as  when  he  was  escorted  by  his  friend 
Talbot  to  Lady  Southesk's,  and  the  lady's 
husband  returned  unexpectedly.  Talbot,  who 
did  not  know  his  relationship  to  the  lady, 

91 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

assumed  that  the  new-comer  was,  unknown  to 
himself,  a  rival  of  York's,  and  tendered  him  a 
gentle  hint  to  consider  himself  vanquished  and 
to  retire.  The  husband  did  retire,  but  it  was 
to  plan  a  vengeance  which  was  to  entertain  a 
society  that  could  not  be  shocked. 

At  the  period  with  which  our  history  deals 
the  Southesk  episode  was  long  past,  and 
Catharine  Sedley  was  the  divinity  who  ruled 
James's  heart.  "  Ugly  Catharine's  "  position  was 
well  known  to  Mary  of  Modena,  and  doubtless 
to  Anne.  Whatever  Anne's  feelings  may  have 
been  in  connection  with  this  scandal,  of  Mary's 
there  was  no  doubt,  for  she  was  distracted 
with  humiliation  and  jealousy. 

When  James  succeeded  to  the  Throne  he 
made  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  dominion  of 
Catharine.  But  the  victory  at  first  rested  with 
the  lady ;  while  his  devoted  Italian  wife,  ever 
faithful  to  him  in  good  and  evil  fortune,  bore 
with  the  dignity  of  a  heroine  the  sorrows  of 
injured  wife,  of  bereaved  mother,  and  perse- 
cuted queen. 

By  dint  of  prayers  and  tears  Mary  of  Modena 
at  long  last  did  succeed  in  weaning  James  from 
the  influence  of  Catharine,  who,  already  Countess 
of  Dorchester,  was  further  compensated  for  her 
loss  with  four  thousand  a  year.  With  all  the 
freshness  of  youth  departed,  and  no  attraction  left 

92 


her  save  her  Rabelaisan  humour,  the  Countess 
nevertheless  found  a  husband.  The  fortunate 
suitor  was  Sir  David  Colyear,  and  his  conquest 
was  the  theme  of  one  of  the  Earl  of  Dorset's 
witty  trifles : 

Proud  with  the  spoils  of  royal  cully, 
With  false  pretences  to  wit  and  parts, 

She  swaggers  like  a  battered  bully, 
To  try  the  temper  of  men's  hearts. 

Though  she  appears  as  glittering  fine 

As  gems,  and  jests,  and  paint  can  make  her, 

She  ne'er  can  win  a  breast  like  mine : 
The  devil  and  Sir  David  take  her ! 

The  latter  half  of  Dorset's  prayer  was  heard. 
Sir  David  took  the  lady,  the  marriage  being 
regarded  as  a  sort  of  classic  triumph  of  wit  over 
beauty.  And  as  for  the  first  half,  which  con- 
signed the  Countess  to  eternal  damnation,  we 
may  charitably  hope  it  was  averted.  At  all 
events,  when  no  art  could  "  mend  a  ruined  face," 
or  "  make  her  a  fine  young  thing,"  she  became 
a  diligent  church-goer,  which,  if  not  an  infallible 
sign  of  salvation,  may  at  least  be  cherished  as 
a  hopeful  omen  for  want  of  a  better. 


93 


CHAPTER  VII 

MERRY  laughter  of  dames  and  gallants 
rang  out  over  the  hunting-field  as  their 
horses  cantered  gaily  through  the  morning  to 
where  Destiny  was  being  deftly  shaped  in  the 
forge  over  the  green.  At  that  forge  Fate  was 
the  master-smith,  and  for  the  fun  of  the  sparks 
flying  from  his  wonderful  anvil,  this  rattling 
cavalcade  would  have  galloped  right  to  the  devil 
himself. 

As  they  rode  they  laughed,  and  when  they 
drew  rein  round  a  maid-of-honour  and  a  prince, 
both  dismounted,  heartier  still  was  their  mirth, 
while  the  beauties  blushed  with  what  success 
they  could,  and  the  cavaliers  twitted  them  that 
their  success  should  be  so  small  in  presence  of  a 
tableau  so  uncommonly  delicate. 

This  master-smith  was  audacious  and  ingenious 
too,  trifling  with  hearts  in  the  midst  of  the 
excitement  of  the  hunt,  and  forging  links  and 
welding  lives  for  the  mere  sport  of  flourishing 
his  hammer.  This  morning's  work  was  to  survive 
in  its  effects  for  long  years,  until  it  ultimately 

94 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

served  to  associate  the  Princess  Anne  with  the 
family  which  above  all  others  owed  to  her  fame 
and  fortune,  and  to  which  she  was  to  be 
indebted  for  her  tyrant  chieftainess.  This 
family  was,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  the 
Churchills  ! 

It  was  a  fiery  steed  and  a  young  horsewoman's 
faint  heart  that  began  the  story.  The  girl 
was  indolent,  plain-looking,  eighteen-year-old 
Arabella,  sister  of  handsome  Jack  Churchill. 
Arabella  was  in  those  distant  days  a  maid-of- 
honour  in  the  York  household.  Her  pale  face, 
tall  figure,  slender  to  spareness,  and  her  spirit- 
less manner  in  a  circle  where  vivacity  was  almost 
the  first  point  in  breeding,  excited  the  derision 
of  companions,  many  of  whom  had  reasons  that 
might  not  be  published  for  esteeming  beauty 
and  impudence  above  all  other  endowments. 
James  was  one  of  those  who  was  amused  by 
Arabella  rather  than  attracted  towards  her,  until 
on  to  the  scene  galloped  the  mettlesome  steed 
which  pitched  her,  as  it  were,  headlong  into  the 
Prince's  life. 

The  adventure  happened  on  a  hunting  expedi- 
tion. Arabella  was  a  timid  creature,  who  would 
gladly  have  exchanged  the  saddle  for  a  ride  less 
dashing,  but  more  secure,  amongst  the  cushions 
of  a  coach.  It  was  ordained,  however,  that  she 
should  not  only  ride  on  horseback,  but  that  she 

95 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

should  be  the  best  mounted  of  all  the  ladies  in 
the  field.  Almost  in  tears  on  finding  herself  at 
the  mercy  of  the  animal  whose  restless  capers 
drew  upon  her  all  eyes,  Arabella,  instead  of 
attracting  sympathy,  became  an  object  of  amuse- 
ment. 

The  ladies  asked  no  better  entertainment 
than  that  she  should  distinguish  herself  as  a  poor 
creature  in  the  saddle.  As  for  the  gentlemen, 
they  were  there  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  the 
more  varied,  the  better  the  diversion.  Whether 
the  hand  that  ministered  to  their  fine  apprecia- 
tion of  the  ridiculous  was  that  of  a  benefactor  or 
a  benefactress,  it  would  certainly  be  that  of  a 
ministering  angel.  Arabella,  in  despair,  tugged 
at  the  bridle  with  all  her  strength  ;  but  excess  of 
shame  had  left  her  nerveless,  and  the  feeble 
pressure  on  the  bit  only  made  her  horse  curvet 
and  prance  more  than  ever,  as  though  he,  too, 
began  to  relish  the  joke  that  was  eclipsing  the 
sport  of  the  day.  Arabella,  in  despair,  grew  limp 
with  fear.  Wo  horse  I  Good  horse  1  Steady  ! 
Steady  !  All  the  prayers  that  a  virtuous  maid- 
of-honour  of  eighteen  might  be  expected  to 
remember  rose  to  her  lips,  but  prayers  availed 
not.  If  a  maid-of-honour  of  eighteen  ever 
swears  when  faced  by  the  dire  emergency  of  her 
life,  perhaps  her  heart  fluttered  a  swear,  but 
oaths,  too,  were  unavailing.  The  Furies  had 

96 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

entered  the  brute.  Out  went  his  nose,  and,  gather- 
ing himself  together  for  the  final  effort  of  his 
memorable  performance,  he  was  off  like  an  arrow. 

Bravely  now  Arabella !  Sit  tight  and  invoke 
your  patron  saint,  for  this  is  a  race  with  the 
devil  himself,  and  if  you  fail  history  will  hand 
it  down  for  ever . 

The  girl  led  the  field  at  a  flying  gallop,  with 
the  laughing  courtiers  spurring  at  her  heels,  and 
goading  her  horse  to  his  topmost  speed  with 
the  clatter  of  their  headlong  charge.  It  was 
a  short  race.  Arabella  was  too  scared  to  faint, 
and,  screaming  as  wildly  as  though  a  mouse  were 
at  play  about  her  ankles,  she  fell  or  threw  herself 
from  the  saddle.  There  she  lay  on  the  turf, 
frightened  out  of  her  wits  but  unhurt,  in  a  plight 
that  only  sisters  of  charity,  or  at  any  rate  only 
ladies,  should  have  witnessed.  But  no  sisters  of 
charity  were  there,  only  Court  fops  and  damsels, 
with  James  careering  at  their  head.  Soon  the 
whole  gay  company  arrived  on  the  scene,  to 
discover  James  at  the  side  of  the  prostrate  maid 
lending  her  assistance.  .  .  .  The  lady's  distress 
melted  the  heart  of  the  Prince.  And  hers  was 
not  stone  to  his  kindness.  Her  horse  had 
cruelly  betrayed  her  ;  and  there  was  no  more 
sport  at  the  expense  of  Arabella,  for  her  lover 
was  the  King's  heir. 

Such  is  the  story  in  some  measure  of  how  it 

VOL.    I  97  H 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

came  to  pass  that  when  James  ascended  the 
Throne  the  Churchills  found  themselves  basking 
in  the  favour  of  the  Sovereign,  and  enjoying 
the  Princess  Anne's  unbounded  friendship  and 
confidence. 

The  Princess's  household  at  the  Cockpit  was 
indeed  the  fortalice  of  this  rising  family.  It 
was  an  extra-territorial  preserve,  within  which 
their  supremacy  was  unchallenged.  The  dignity 
of  Anne's  position  was  proportionately  enhanced 
when  James  became  King,  and  her  new  honours 
were  reflected  in  her  household.  Her  old 
friend,  Sarah  Jennings,  now,  of  course,  Sarah 
Churchill,  was  made  first  lady  of  the  bed- 
chamber to  the  Princess,  and  her  husband,  Jack 
Churchill,  was  raised  to  the  English  peerage. 
Arabella  had  cemented  the  foundations  of  her 
family's  fortunes  by  yielding  to  James ;  Sarah, 
her  sister-in-law,  by  never  yielding  in  anything 
to  any  earthly  power,  completed  the  edifice  of 
its  greatness. 

The  progress  of  Sarah  to  the  Cockpit  from 
the  old  manor  house  at  Richmond,  where  we 
saw  her  nigh  two  decades  ago  playing  with  the 
little  orphan  princesses  and  the  Villiers  children, 
had  been  a  series  of  triumphal  campaigns.  From 
babyhood  she  was  the  insuppressible,  the  in- 
domitable Sarah.  Her  first  appointment  at 
Court  was  as  maid-of-honour  to  Mary  of 

98 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Modena  at  St.  James's  Palace,  where  her  mother 
had   quarters   as  a  Royal  protegee.     The  little 
maid  was  pert  and  handsome,  and  her  precocious 
airs    were    vastly    entertaining    to    her    Royal 
mistress  and  her  Court.     She  had  a  glib  tongue 
that  was  surprisingly  critical  and  bitter  too,  and 
a  spirit  for  which  fear  had  no  existence.     Kings 
and   princes,   lords   and   ladies,   might   be  very 
great  personages  indeed,  but  before  never  a  one 
did  little   Sarah    quail.      At   ten   she   had  the 
courage   of  a   soldier,  at  fifteen  she  had  spirit 
enough  to  lead  the  King's  army  or  give  the  law 
to  His  Majesty's   realm.     Her  mother — a  lady 
whom  the  literature  of  the  day  does  not  always 
depict  in  attractive  colours — was  desirous  at  this 
time  of  withdrawing  her  from  the  York  house- 
hold.    Perhaps    her    motives    did   her  honour, 
perhaps   she   thought  the    establishment    of    a 
Catholic  prince  an  unworthy  setting  for  talents 
so    brilliant !      But    whether    the    widow    was 
agitated   by  maternal  anxiety  or  reasons  more 
sordid   mattered   little,   for   Sarah   had   already 
taken  the   future   into   her  own  strong  hands. 
There  was  a  battle-royal,  in  which  the  uncon- 
ventional young  baggage  proved  herself  too  much 
for  the  distressed  widow,  who  not  only  lost  her 
cause,  but  likewise  lost  her  rooms  in  the  palace, 
with  so  pathetic  a  story  did  Sarah  excite  in  her 
own  favour  the  sympathy  of  her  Royal  patrons. 

99 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Born  to  conquer,  Sarah  soon  marched  into  the 
lists  of  love,  not,  however,  taking  as  an  example 
for  imitation  the  frail  Arabella.  On  that  score 
her  mother  need  have  had  no  anxiety :  Sarah 
was  born  for  greater  things  than  to  be  the  play- 
thing of  any  creature,  however  exalted  his  rank. 
She  might  condescend  to  share  a  prince's  throne, 
but  never  affections  that  would  have  conferred 
a  more  invidious  distinction.  Like  an  ever- 
victorious  general,  proud  and  confident,  she 
surveyed  the  field  of  operations,  and  then 
mapped  out  the  plan  of  campaign  which  she 
would  carry  to  a  successful  issue,  or  die  of 
chagrin.  Such  a  spirit  was  invincible,  and  so, 
having  vanquished  all  her  rivals,  handsome  Jack 
Churchill  fell  to  her  lot,  the  prize  of  war.  Than 
this  conquest  of  hers  there  was  no  more  promis- 
ing soldier,  no  luckier  favourite  of  fortune. 

There  were  two  days  in  Jack  Churchill's  life 
when  a  false  move  would  have  meant  the  drop- 
ping of  the  portcullis  right  in  his  teeth,  the 
portcullis  guarding  the  way  to  the  giddy  heights 
of  fortune  to  which  he  at  length  attained. 
One  was  that  on  which  he  asked  Sarah  to  be  his 
wife  and  ally.  The  other  crisis  belonged  to  that 
early  chapter  in  his  career  when  he  was  a  page 
to  James,  Duke  of  York.  One  day  the  page 
attended  his  master  at  a  military  review. 

"  What  would    you   like  to  be  ? "    said  the 
100 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND   HER  COtJRT 

Prince  to  the  youngster,  guessing,  no  doubt,  what 
his  answer  would  be,  for  what  boy's  heart  would 
not  leap  to  be  a  soldier  at  the  spectacle  of 
columns  of  infantry,  their  fixed  bayonets  glinting 
in  the  sunshine,  advancing  blithely  to  the  rollick- 
ing music  of  their  bands !  And  then  at  the 
clarion  notes  of  the  trumpet  ringing  high  into 
the  sky,  the  thunderous  charge  of  the  cavalry, 
with  sabres  glistening  along  the  hurricane- line, 
like  palisades  of  steel ! 

At  the  moment  of  the  Prince's  question  the 
Horse  Guards  galloped  past.  They  gave  Jack 
his  inspiration.  He  would  be  a  guardsman.  Oh 
but  to  carry  a  colour  amongst  these  gallant 
fellows  ! 

The  boy's  prayer  was  heard.  His  answer 
delighted  the  Prince,  and  he  got  his  commission. 

The  young  officer  of  the  Guards  literally 
vaulted  from  grade  to  grade.  He  could  not 
help  himself.  His  sister  Arabella,  thanks  to  her 
adventure  in  the  hunting-field,  enjoyed  the  favour 
of  one  whose  patronage  might  insure  promotion 
for  an  officer  less  competent  to  advance  his  own 
interests  than  this  young  Guardsman.  His 
progress  was  handicapped  neither  by  an  obtrusive 
conscience  nor  an  excessive  sensibility  on  the 
point  of  honour.  The  ladies  smiled  on  Jack,  and 
Jack  smiled  back  for  a  consideration.  They 
repaid  his  condescension  with  more  than  maternal 

101 


QflTEEN  ANNE  AND   HER  COURT 

tenderness.  The  Duchess  of  Cleveland  turned 
from  the  King  to  the  Guards  officer,  and  the 
young  warrior  so  far  consented  to  indulge  her 
passion  for  self-sacrifice  as  to  accept  from  her  a 
gift  of  five  thousand  pounds.  This  high  standard 
of  generosity  he  would  do  nothing  to  alloy,  for 
when  the  Duchess  asked  him  for  twenty  guineas, 
her  funds  running  low  at  basset,  Jack  refused, 
with  that  sweetness  of  manner  which  still  left 
her  his  debtor  !  The  five  thousand  pounds  was 
not,  however,  earned  without  some  slight  risk  to 
the  gentleman  who,  though  brave,  was  deeply 
appreciative,  and  not  without  substantial  reasons, 
of  the  worth  of  his  own  person.  King  Charles 
discovered  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland  one  day 
with  a  lover.  Without  waiting  to  encounter  the 
Merrie  Monarch's  anger  or  raillery,  his  rival 
leaped  through  the  window.  The  gallant  who 
acquitted  himself  with  such  agile  discretion  is 
supposed  to  have  been  Churchill.  He  did  not, 
however,  escape  altogether  unscathed,  his  punish- 
ment taking  the  form  of  a  stinging  insult. 

"  Since  you  have  become  her  lover  to  escape 
from  starving,  I  forgive  you  !  "  said  the  King,  and 
Jack  was  preserved  from  similar  instances  of  the 
Royal  clemency  by  being  sent  to  Tangier,  which 
seems  to  have  been  the  Hades  of  unwise  lovers. 

It  was  in  the  panoply  of  a  full  colonel  that 
Jack  one  evening  fluttered  the  hearts  of  maids 

102 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  dames  at  a  rout  at  St.  James's  Palace ;  and 
who  should  cast  an  imperious  eye  on  the  dashing 
warrior  but  young  Mistress  Jennings  herself ! 

Jack,  distributing  with  the  nice  discrimination 
of  a  business  man,  his  glances  and  compliments 
and  the  hundred-and-one  attentions  that  were 
the  stock-in-trade  of  his  flourishing  commerce, 
caught  Sarah's  eye.  When  these  two  looked 
full  upon  each  other — both  handsome,  both 
audacious,  he  a  giant  in  intellect,  she  a  giantess 
in  spirit — it  was  as  when  the  lightning  courses 
through  the  air,  and  one  wonders  if  it  is  the  gods 
at  play  or  the  gods  at  war. 

"  A  fine  young  thing  that !  Pity  she's  as  poor 
as  a  church  mouse  !  "  doubtless  thought  Jack, 
unbending,  perchance,  so  far  as  to  smile  upon  a 
person  who,  in  his  opinion,  was  of  as  little  moment 
as  a  palace  kitten. 

"  Conceited  coxcomb  !  "  thought  Sarah.  "  But, 
lord,  what  a  face  !  What  a  figure  !  The  eye  ! 
The  waist !  .  .  .  the  devil ! "  and  Sarah  could 
have  slapped  the  colonel's  face  that  he  was  not 
at  her  feet,  begging  her  hand  in  marriage,  and 
imploring  forgiveness  for  having  ever  yielded  to 
the  blandishments  of  that  wretched  Cleveland. 

"  There's  Catharine  Sedley,"  said  Jack  to  him- 
self, "  with  the  fortune  of  a  Jewess,  and  as  ugly  as 
sin.  If  only  Mistress  Sarah  had  half  Catharine's 
ravishing  purse  to  set  off  her  loveliness  !  " 

103 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  Sarah  won  the  colonel  in  spite  of  the  gold 
of  all  her  rivals,  and  despite  her  own  poverty. 
James  looked  on  them  both  as  in  some  sense 
his  own  children,  for  Jack  was  the  brother  of  his 
devoted  Arabella,  whose  proofs  of  affection  were 
multiplying,  if  somewhat  irregularly,  the  branches 
of  the  Royal  Family,  while  Sarah's  happiness  he 
desired,  because  of  the  indomitable  maid  herself. 
And  so  the  union  took  place  of  this  extraordinary 
pair,  who,  having  joined  forces  in  matrimonial 
treaty,  turned  adamantine  hearts  to  all  the  world. 
Henceforth,  though  divinely  selfish  in  their  greed 
for  wealth  and  power,  they  loved  each  other  with 
touching  constancy,  through  every  temptation 
and  trial,  to  the  end. 

From  the  time  of  their  marriage  the  history  of 
the  Churchills  is  not  alone  closely  interwoven 
with  that  of  Anne.  Theirs,  indeed,  largely  shaped 
the  Princess's  career.  Almost  from  her  cradle 
Sarah's  was  the  imperious  will  which  to  Anne 
was  ever  the  decisive  influence,  saving  her  as 
child,  and  girl,  and  woman,  from  the  trouble  of 
exercising  an  independent  judgment. 

By  her  alliance  with  one  of  the  most  engaging 
personalities  in  England,  Sarah's  place  in  the 
esteem  of  Anne  became  more  firmly  established 
than  ever.  Lord  Chesterfield,  who  knew 
Churchill  well,  describes  him  as  being  irresist- 
ible either  by  man  or  woman.  Devoid  of 

104 


From  an  engraving  by  J.  J.  Van  ilcr  Berghe. 
ARABELLA  CHURCHILL. 


p.  104. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

principle,  he  wound  his  way  into  the  confidence 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  by  his  strong 
sense,  his  gracious  manner,  and  his  perfect 
temper,  a  temper  which  reigned  serene  in 
pellucid  Olympian  altitudes,  which  were  never 
overcast,  even  though  Sarah  herself  flounced 
round  him  in  her  wildest  tantrums  of  rage. 

At  the  Cockpit  George  of  Denmark  was  an 
amiable  nonentity,  loyal  to  his  wife,  and  exulting 
in  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  wine.  The 
worthy  Dane  had  no  wisdom  with  which  to  help 
his  wife  in  the  difficulties  which  she  created  for 
herself  by  dabbling  in  the  turgid  stream  of 
political  intrigue.  Denied  the  guidance  which 
would  have  been  hers  had  she  been  more  happily 
mated,  the  Princess  yielded  herself  up  to  Sarah 
Churchill's  thraldom. 

She  was  the  ruler  of  the  Princess's  household, 
the  ruler  not  only  of  the  household,  but  of  the 
very  heart  and  soul  of  the  daughter  of  the  King. 
No  father-confessor  ever  knew  more  intimately 
the  aspirations  of  his  penitent's  bosom  than  did 
Sarah  those  of  her  mistress.  To  her  the  mind 
of  Anne  was  as  an  open  book  ;  no  wonder,  for 
the  book  was  largely  of  her  own  making. 

King  James  on  his  throne  was  as  confident 
of  the  loyalty  of  the  Churchills  as  he  was  of  his 
own  life.  Across  his  mind  no  thought  ever 
flashed  that  in  showering  honours  upon  them  he 

105 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  strengthening  the  fortifications  of  treason. 
The  Cockpit,  he  would  have  sworn,  was  the  very 
citadel  of  devotion  to  his  Crown.  But  the 
masterful  intellects  which  dominated  the  Prin- 
cess's household  were  already  shaping  splendid 
dreams,  already  they  were  beholding  visions,  and 
in  their  dreams  and  visions  the  poor  Princess, 
who  was  their  minion,  was  queen,  and  high  up 
in  the  very  zenith  shone  their  own  resplendent 
star. 

Spurred  on  by  that  unlovely  ambition  which 
at  the  dawn  of  things  made  Heaven  itself  the 
theatre  of  war,  and  brought  to  the  depths  the 
rebel  angels,  the  Churchills  cared  nothing  for 
King  James,  to  whom  they  owed  everything ; 
nothing  for  Anne,  who  trusted  them  in  every- 
thing. When  the  dread  day  of  reckoning  came 
for  James  he  called  confidently  for  the  man 
whose  fortune  he  had  made,  for  the  idol  of 
the  Cockpit.  .  .  .  Where  was  Churchill  .  .  . 
Churchill  .  .  .  ! 

Out  of  the  silence  there  came  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs,  a  clatter  that  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  till  there  was  dead  silence,  and  that  was 
answer  enough.  The  Churchills,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  had  turned  their  backs  on  the 
darksome  night,  on  the  angry  sky,  on  the 
murmurings  of  the  coming  tempest. 

But  we  anticipate.  Fate,  the  master-smith, 
106 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

who,  on  the  hunting-green,  to  the  music  of  the 
laughter  of  dames  and  gallants,  had  long  ago 
fashioned  the  bonds  that  made  James  the  slave 
of  the  Churchills,  had  not  as  yet  sought  the  red 
forge  of  tragedy,  gaping  through  Cimmerian 
night,  where  the  King's  Crown  was  to  be  welded 
into  a  coronet  of  affliction,  and  his  Queen  sent 
forth  to  exile,  a  Queen  of  Tears. 


107 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  TTTHAT  relation  are  you  to  *  lying  Killi- 
^  *  grew '  ? "  said  a  gentleman  to  Harry 
Killigrew,  one  of  the  gayest  of  that  crowded 
gallery  of  gay  sparks  who  flourished  during  the 
closing  decades  of  the  Stuart  epoch. 

Harry  smiled  pleasantly,  for  nothing  came 
amiss  to  him  that  his  lively  imagination  could 
possibly  construe  into  a  jest,  and  what  was 
coined  for  a  withering  insult  was  blithely  trans- 
muted into  the  virgin  gold  of  playful  humour. 

"  Sir,"  he  replied,  "  there  is  no  distinction  in 
our  family :  we  are  all  liars  ;  my  father  was  a 
liar,  my  uncles  were  liars,  and  I  myself  am  a  very 
great  liar ;  but  I  suppose  you  mean  my  cousin 
Will,  who  never  spoke  one  word  of  truth  ! " 

Harry's  panegyric  might  have  embraced  con- 
temporary personages  of  far  greater  consideration 
than  any  members  of  his  gifted  family ;  and  to 
none,  perhaps,  might  it  have  been  applied  more 
justly  than  to  Robert,  Earl  of  Sunderland.  This 
brilliant  and  cold-blooded  intriguer  takes  rank 
amongst  the  most  consummate  actors  that  ever 

108 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

played  a  decisive  part  in  the  turning-point   of 
a  nation's  affairs. 

Sunderland  it  was  who  made  everything 
possible  by  making  the  King  absolutely  im- 
possible. He  was  the  very  prince  of  opportunists, 
to  whom  his  master's  smile  or  his  master's  frown 
was  the  single  principle  in  statecraft  that,  admitting 
of  no  dispute,  was  at  once  final  and  comprehensive, 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  reason,  and  justice, 
and  policy.  To  him  there  was  no  right  and  no 
wrong.  There  was  only,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
luxury  of  power,  and,  on  the  other,  the  sepulchral 
desolation  of  obscurity.  If  in  Courts  there  be  no 
sincerity,  then  must  the  ideal  courtier  be  dubbed 
"  Sunderland."  But  with  such  gracious  subtlety, 
such  perfection  of  word  and  of  mien,  did  he 
carry  himself,  that  upon  the  mind  of  James  no 
shadow  of  suspicion  ever  fell  that  this  urbane 
mentor  was  not  a  paragon  of  fidelity. 

Sunderland  had  a  fascination  to  which  few  of 
his  contemporaries  were  impervious.  If  people 
did  not  often  love  him,  they  marvelled  at  him. 
It  was  a  fascination  that  could  not  blind  any 
discerning  judge  to  his  deficiencies  in  all  that 
should  go  to  the  composition  of  a  great  and 
noble  character.  James's  confidence  in  Sunder- 
land remained,  indeed,  proof  conclusive  of  his 
inability  to  estimate  men  according  to  their 
deserts.  He  surrendered  himself  with  child-like 

109 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

confidence  to  the  magnetism  of  one  whose  god 
was  the  sun  that  was  shining.  That  same 
magnetism  drove  the  Princess  Anne  to  distraction. 
With  nothing  but  intuition  to  guide  her,  she 
jumped  instinctively  to  a  fairly  accurate  estimate 
of  this  dazzling  personage.  But  while  she  hated 
him  and  his  Countess  it  was  for  reasons  very 
different  from  those  for  which  honest  men  must 
censure  them.  She  herself  was  in  her  heart  a 
traitress,  but  her  loathing  for  Sunderland  was  not 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  too  was  steeped  to  the 
lips  in  treason.  On  the  contrary,  she  believed 
him  to  be  loyal  from  motives  of  self-interest, 
and  her  bitterness  against  him  sprang  from  the 
success  with  which  he  acted  the  part  of  the 
whole-hearted  and  zealous  servant  of  the  Crown. 
At  times  she  must  have  feared  that  Sunder- 
land's  talents  would  defeat  all  the  King's  enemies, 
defeat  the  King's  indiscretions,  and  ultimately 
accomplish  the  miracle  of  defeating  the  man's 
own  insincerity,  by  achieving  the  triumph  of 
James's  policy.  Such  thoughts  stung  her  to 
madness ;  and  voices  were  near  to  ensure  that 
they  would  never  long  be  absent  from  her  mind. 
Did  she  speak,  the  conversation  veered  round  to 
Sunderland  ;  did  she  write,  her  pen  spontaneously 
traced  his  name  ;  and  during  those  lonely  hours 
when  conscience  and  natural  affection  and 
ambition  made  war  within  her  soul,  the  face  of 

110 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Sunderland  haunted  her  misery,  smiling  on  her 
confusion  an  inscrutable  smile. 

A  host  of  enemies  stoutly  opposed  James's 
policy.  But  the  direst  enemy  of  them  all  was 
Sunderland,  who  posed  as  the  enthusiastic  sup- 
porter of  his  Sovereign's  policy,  and  who,  to 
attain  his  own  ends,  lent  to  the  King's  most 
indiscreet  measures  his  fatal  countenance.  James 
was  sincere  in  his  religion,  though,  unhappily,  as 
imprudent  as  he  was  sincere.  Sunderland's 
religion  was,  on  the  contrary,  known  only  to  him- 
self and  Omniscience  ;  but  in  zeal  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  ancient  faith  he  was  his  Sovereign's 
devoted  servant,  and  with  a  light  heart  he  gave 
His  Majesty  a  cordial  hand  along  the  road  to  ruin. 
His  own  continuance  in  place  and  power  was 
the  motive  which  inspired  his  counsels,  sublime 
selfishness  the  spirit  which  prompted  his  advice 
in  the  Council-chamber.  When  the  wind  blew 
Catholic,  the  Heavens  be  praised  1  When  the 
wind  blew  Protestant,  the  Heavens  be  praised  ! 
Praise  under  all  circumstances  to  Allah,  who  had 
made  fools  to  be  the  salvation  of  clever  men ! 
When  the  most  delicate  weather-cock  ever 
designed  was  baffled  by  current  and  counter- 
current  the  equanimity  of  one  mind  was  a  marvel : 
it  was  that  of  Robert,  Earl  of  Sunderland.  In 
the  whole  gamut  of  politics  there  was  no  move 
that  could  disconcert  one  who  was  always  ready 

111 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  disarm  evil  fortune  with  the  insinuating  smile 
of  surprised  delight.  Plain  men  distrusted  him, 
dull  men  were  afraid  of  him,  honourable  men 
despised  him.  But  when  Robert  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  inspire  the  plain  men  with 
confidence,  to  reassure  the  dull  ones,  or  to  in- 
gratiate himself  with  men  of  honour,  by  sheer 
address  he  vanquished  all  obstacles. 

Sharp  is  the  contrast  between  what  Sunderland 
was  and  what  he  ought  to  have  been  according 
to  all  the  laws  of  heredity :  for  while  in  his 
blood  there  coursed  the  strain  of  a  Bayard  he 
has  left  behind  the  record  of  an  unscrupulous 
adventurer.  His  father  was  a  chivalrous  country 
gentleman,  who  bade  farewell  to  his  delightful 
home  to  fight  and  die  for  his  King,  and  leave 
in  widowhood  the  lovely  Saccharissa  immortalised 
by  the  poet  Waller.  His  brief  married  life  was 
an  idyll,  his  letters  from  camp  and  battlefield 
to  his  wife  continuing  a  simple  and  exquisite 
romance  of  cultivated  society  in  rural  England 
which  only  ended  with  his  life.  At  the  battle  of 
Newbury  he  fell,  fighting  on  the  side  of  the 
Cavaliers,  and  his  little  son  Robert  inherited  a 
great  name  and  splendid  fortune.  In  Robert 
blended  all  the  qualities  that  made  his  father  and 
mother  so  pleasing  to  their  contemporaries.  He 
was  handsome,  gracious  of  manner,  gallant  in 
bearing,  while  his  intellectual  accomplishments 

112 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

were  in  keeping  with  a  personality  so  engaging. 
Years  of  travel  abroad  had  made  him  familiar 
with  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian.  Contact  with 
the  best  society  of  the  leading  European  capitals 
had  polished  to  the  finest  edge  wits  naturally 
keen  ;  and  what  he  did  not  learn  of  men  and 
affairs  in  the  ordinary  course  was  acquired  at 
the  gaming  tables,  where  he  bartered  his  broad 
acres  for  the  crooked  wisdom  garnered  amongst 
professional  sharpers. 

Robert  at  Oxford  was  a  leader  in  one  of  the 
theological  camps.  He  captained  a  troop  of 
undergraduates,  who  tore  to  rags  the  surplices 
worn  by  the  students  of  Christ  Church  at  the 
command  of  Charles  II.  Opposition  to  what 
they  considered  Romanising  tendencies  may 
have  fired  some  of  his  comrades  to  this  exploit, 
but  the  pure  fires  of  Protestant  zeal  were 
in  Robert's  case  enlivened  by  sheer  devilry. 
Robert  of  Oxford  was  the  same  wayward  Robert 
who,  having  brightened  the  salons  of  Paris  and 
Madrid  with  his  elegant  presence,  returned  to 
London  to  fall  in  love  with  Anne,  daughter  of 
the  Earl  of  Bristol.  Anne  was  a  lovely  girl,  and 
Robert,  fascinated  by  her,  stooped  to  conquer,  and 
did  so  with  such  dash  and  address  that  soon  the 
beauty  struck  her  colours  and  capitulated  to  the 
courtly  young  noble.  But  Robert  was  courtly 
and  caressing  only  at  discretion,  as  Bristol's 

VOL.    I  113  I 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

daughter  quickly  learned,  in  a  way  that  must 
have  provoked  her  to  rage,  the  more  maddening 
because  it  could  be  gratified  only  at  her  own 
expense.  There  was  a  lovers'  quarrel  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  Robert,  as  a  declaration  of 
independence,  rode  away.  Whither  was  he  gone  ? 
The  noble  house  of  Sunderland  was  ashamed  of 
its  master's  treachery.  The  noble  house  of 
Bristol  was  struck  with  consternation  ;  but  in  the 
midst  of  the  commotion,  back  to  his  lady-love 
hied  the  truant.  There  were  forgiveness  and  a 
wedding,  and  Saccharissa  had  a  daughter-in-law 
beautiful  as  she  herself  had  been,  but  less  discreet 
than  fair.  Before  the  wedding  it  was  Robert's 
privilege  to  play  the  careless  gallant,  reckless  of 
the  favour  of  the  damsel  too  lightly  won.  But 
after  the  wedding  it  was  madame's  day  to  play 
the  gallant  and  tame  the  bold  Robert  who  had 
tattered  the  surplices  at  Christ  Church. 

Entering  politics,  Sunderland  became  one  of 
Charles's  ministers,  and  distinguished  himself  as 
an  enemy  of  James's  succession.  He  did  his  best 
to  prevail  upon  Charles  to  support  the  measures 
designed  to  divert  the  succession  from  his  brother 
in  favour  of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  James  knew 
the  whole  story  of  base  intrigue,  but,  with  an  ex- 
cess of  generosity  for  which  he  afterwards  paid 
dearly,  he  forgave  Sunderland  when  he  came  to  the 
throne,  and  gave  him  a  place  in  his  Government. 

114 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  for  Sunderland  it  should  be  the  highest 
place  or  none  at  all ;  and  thus  began  that 
subterranean  war  in  which,  with  fair  faces  and 
black  hearts,  the  Earl  and  his  Countess  would 
have  carried  off  the  palm  for  deceit,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  Princess  Anne,  who,  alas  !  must  be 
awarded  the  distinction,  by  reason  of  the  ties  of 
blood  which  multiplied  the  darkness  of  her  sin. 

It  matters  little  whether  Sunderland  ever 
really  intended  to  serve  James  with  whatever 
selfish  loyalty  his  nature  possessed.  To  him  the 
best  king  was  the  king  under  whom  he  fared 
best ;  and  as  the  circumstances  of  the  time 
seemed  to  offer  every  promise  of  dazzling  reward 
to  his  talents  for  intrigue,  he  doubtless  accepted 
the  secretaryship  in  James's  administration  with 
earnest  wishes  for  the  prosperity  of  himself  and 
the  King. 

To  promote  the  first  and  dearest  of  these 
objects  he  desired  to  exchange  his  own  compara- 
tively modest  post  for  that  of  Lord  Treasurer, 
an  office  filled  by  James's  brother-in  law,  Lord 
Rochester.  To  forward  his  schemes  he  chose  as 
his  chief  instrument  a  whole-hearted  partisan  of 
the  monarch,  and  one  who,  whatever  his  faults 
may  have  been — and  they  were  hardly  as  black 
or  as  numerous  as  his  enemies  would  have  us 
believe — was  yet  adorned  to  the  end  by  loyalty 
to  the  King. 

115 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Dick  Talbot,  Duke  of  Tyrconnel,  was  a  rake 
of  the  type  that  might  have  stepped  out  of 
the  pages  of  Lever.  He  was  brave  as  a  lion, 
ready  to  die  for  his  friends  or  dispatch  his  foes, 
always  willing  to  fall  in  love  with  a  fair  maid, 
and  more  disposed  to  make  the  favoured  one  his 
wife  than  many  of  his  associates.  Amidst  the 
pleasures  and  distractions  of  the  life  of  a  Court 
rake,  he  never  forgot  the  miseries  of  his  own 
suffering  country,  and  many  an  Irish  gentleman 
ground  to  the  dust  by  the  Penal  Laws,  was  glad 
to  pour  his  misfortunes  into  Dick's  ear,  in  the 
hope  of  securing  through  his  intercession  the 
clemency  of  the  Crown.  Dick's  heart  was  tender, 
and  what  interest  he  possessed  was  always 
employed  to  help  his  unfortunate  countrymen. 
But  Dick's  pocket  was  also  deep,  and  it  is 
alleged  against  him  that  he  gratefully  accepted 
douceurs  for  his  philanthropy.  It  is  not 
asserted  against  him,  however,  that  he  ever  took 
money  for  evil-doing,  as  in  the  case  of  either 
Sunderland,  his  colleague  and  chief,  or  his 
brother-in-law,  Jack  Churchill.  Nor,  as  in  the 
case  of  Sunderland  and  Churchill,  did  he  in  the 
day  of  trial  change  his  coat,  and  turn  his  face 
from  the  setting  sun  to  where  the  new  day  would 
dawn. 

Of  the  corps  of  devil-may-care  gallants  who 
made  the  days  of  the  Restoration  race  merrily 

116 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  in  one  whirl  of  love-making,  gambling,  and 
revelry,  there  was  none  more  picturesque  than 
Dick  Talbot.  His  princely  air,  his  majestic 
bearing,  his  joyous,  reckless  spirit,  his  Celtic 
swagger  captured  James's  fancy,  and  secured  the 
admiration  of  the  courtiers,  who  approved  those 
of  his  faults  in  which  they  themselves  were 
participators,  and  envied  him  the  others  which 
the  devil  had  denied  them. 

The  beautiful  Frances  Jennings,  sister  of  Sarah 
Churchill,  was  Talbot 's  wife.  There  was,  there- 
fore, a  certain  indirect  connection  between  the 
Princess  Anne's  establishment  and  that  of 
Sunderland,  which,  though  it  did  not  foster 
cordial  relations  between  the  two  houses,  and  was 
doubtless  not  intended  to  do  so,  nevertheless 
had  its  weight  with  the  crafty  Earl  in  drawing 
Talbot  into  his  schemes.  But  he  was  not  by 
any  means  dependent  on  his  wife  for  the 
deference  shown  him  by  the  designing  Sunderland. 
He  was  master  of  an  income  of  about  forty 
thousand  a  year,  no  insignificant  recommenda- 
tion to  a  man  who  prized  gold  at  its  full  worth, 
and  who  was  nearly  always  in  need  of  money, 
despite  his  magnificent  patrimony.  In  a  hundred 
ways,  one  at  least  being  of  a  despicable  nature, 
Talbot  had  shown  in  earlier  days  his  devotion 
to  James,  who,  now  that  he  was  King,  was  well 
disposed  to  reward  loyalty  so  fervent. 

117 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  perhaps  his  crowning  qualification  for 
Sunderland's  friendship,  or  rather  to  be  his 
instrument,  was  a  certain  blustering  ingenuous- 
ness which  made  his  thoughts  clear  as  noonday 
to  one  endowed  with  the  astuteness  necessary  to 
read  them.  Talbot's  enormous  wealth,  his 
religion,  his  nationality,  his  place  in  the  King's 
esteem,  his  relationship  to  the  Churchills,  his 
want  of  discretion,  his  leonine  daring,  his 
exclusively  Irish  ambitions,  all  furnished  reasons 
more  or  less  cogent  for  the  confidence  reposed  in 
him  by  Sunderland. 

The  Earldom  of  Tyrconnel  had  already  been 
conferred  on  him  by  the  King  as  a  token  of  his 
favour.  To  be  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland  was, 
however,  the  ideal  that  dominated  Talbot's 
dreams  ;  and  even  this  dream,  perhaps,  he  would 
never  have  dreamt,  but  for  the  inspiration  of  the 
lovely  Jennings,  whom  he  had  won  after  a  court- 
ship as  chequered  as  that  of  the  famous  Charles 
O'Malley  himself. 

The  impressionable  Dick  first  met  the  beauti- 
ful Frances  at  the  time  when  she  had  become 
renowned  for  her  virtue  by  showering  around 
St.  James's  Palace  unopened  love-letters.  They 
were  from  no  less  a  personage  than  Dick's  Royal 
friend  and  patron,  James.  Whoever  liked  could 
read  the  billets-doux,  and  soon  the  whole  Court 
was  laughing  at  the  Prince's  confusion.  To 

118 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Talbot  such  extraordinary  virtue  allied  with  so 
much  beauty  was  irresistible.  Bless  the  colleen, 
and  be  hanged  to  the  Prince  :  he  would  make 
her  his  wife ! 

Dick's  eagerness  cost  him  temporarily,  under 
circumstances  to  be  presently  sketched,  the 
treasure  he  coreted,  and  when  it  was  too 
late,  he  had  reason  to  curse  his  folly  in  not 
conducting  the  attack  with  more  finesse.  The 
ardour  of  his  love-making  repelled  the  austere 
beauty.  As  yet  she  had  not  the  key  to  a  tem- 
perament changeful  as  the  skies  of  his  native 
land.  His  high  spirits  when  fortune  seemed 
to  shine  upon  his  suit  wearied  her.  His  im- 
patience of  rivalry  was  fatal  to  his  prospects, 
because  adulation  was  the  homage  she  saw  paid 
on  every  side  to  beauty ;  and  why  should  she 
be  denied  her  share  of  incense  so  seductive  ?  In 
miniature  this  love-suit  was  a  replica  of  the 
historical  duel  of  Celt  and  Saxon.  The  man 
surrendered  himself  absolutely  to  the  passion 
that  possessed  him  ;  the  woman  was  afraid  of  so 
tremendous  a  sacrifice,  it  was  so  foreign  to  her 
easier  nature,  so  unlike  the  fine  subdivision  of 
loyalty  and  affection  which  on  all  sides  marked 
the  relation  of  the  lover  and  his  mistress.  One 
day  it  was  war,  the  next  peace.  Talbot  turned 
in  umbrage  from  jests  which  his  English  rivals 
would  have  taken  with  uplifted  eyebrows,  or  gay 

119 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

repartee,  according  to  the  quality  of  the  gentle- 
man's temperament  or  wit.  A  gentle  word  or 
inviting  smile,  and  the  beauty  was  as  quickly  for- 
given, only,  however,  to  be  as  quickly  condemned 
to  see  the  thunder  on  his  brow  at  some  fresh  evi- 
dence of  her  vanity  or.  indifference.  It  was  inimit- 
able comedy  with,  as  one  might  say,  two  endings, 
one  a  little  amusing,  a  little  sad  ;  the  other,  the 
final  one,  wholly  Celtic  in  its  poetry,  Celtic  in  its 
sadness,  Celtic  in  its  irreparable  desolation  and 
ruin ! 


120 


CHAPTER  IX 

rriO  the  Stuarts  a  flirtation  was  often  as 
**-  momentous  as  a  great  campaign  to  other 
dynasties.  It  was  in  some  degree  a  long  and 
intricate  series  of  love  affairs,  other  people's  love 
affairs,  that  eventually  raised  Anne  Stuart  to  the 
dignity  of  the  Queen  of  England. 

In  hastening  the  downfall  of  James  and  the 
elevation  of  the  Princess,  Dick  Talbot  was  an 
unconscious  but  a  powerful  agent,  and  his  com- 
panion in  the  vaulting  ambition  that  marked  the 
day  of  his  prosperity  was  his  wife,  Frances 
Jennings,  the  heroine  of  one  of  those  Court 
flirtations  which  might  almost  rank  as  affairs 
of  State.  In  its  day  that  flirtation  was  the 
delight  of  London,  and  even  now  its  history 
clothes  with  something  of  the  animation  of 
rival  lovers  important  personages  in  Anne's 
circle. 

The  heart  had  no  place  in  the  schemes  of 
Sunderland.  He  was  a  traitor  because  fidelity 
was  not  in  his  nature.  Talbot  and  Sunderland 
had  for  colleagues  in  the  committee  formed  by 

121 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

James  as  a  sort  of  secret  cabinet  to  which  might 
be  confided  his  most  secret  aspirations,  Father 
Petre  and  Henry  Jermyn,  afterwards  Lord 
Dover.  These  four  plotted  and  planned,  they 
coquetted  with  the  whirlwind,  and  airily 
challenged  giants,  one  with  an  eye  to  this  ad- 
vantage, another  with  an  eye  to  that,  but  all  in 
the  end  that  what  was  to  be  should  be  that 
Anne  might  rule  and  rue.  These  men  hardly 
gave  the  Princess  at  the  Cockpit  a  thought. 
She  had  neither  a  party  in  the  State  nor  the 
means  of  forming  one,  nor  yet  a  husband  capable 
of  leading  one,  and  if  she  was  not  forgotten 
altogether  it  was  because  of  her  religion. 

The  King  idolised  the  Princess  Anne.  How- 
ever earnestly  he  may  have  desired  that  she 
should  change  her  faith,  he  nevertheless  repelled 
with  vehemence  the  faintest  suggestion  of 
proselytism  in  regard  to  her.  He  relished 
theological  disputation  as  keenly  as  did  his 
grandfather,  and  was  willing  that  Sunderland, 
Rochester,  and  the  rest,  should  vex  their  souls, 
if  not  their  consciences,  in  wrangles  with  casuists, 
whose  point  of  view  their  life-long  habit  of  mind 
rendered  them  hopelessly  incapable  of  appreciat- 
ing. But  Anne,  whose  conversion  would  have 
been  more  precious  to  him  than  all  the  gold  in 
the  Treasury  of  France,  he  would  not  suffer 
to  be  perplexed  with  such  problems.  In  a  letter 

122 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  Fere  la  Chase,  Father  Petre  wrote  that  the 
King's  religious  advisers 

"  one  day  combined  together  to  induce  the  King 
to  confer  with  his  daughter  Anne  about  religion, 
saying :  How  would  any  one  be  of  their  faith 
when  their  heirs  were  Protestants  ?  The  King 
requested  them  to  leave  his  daughters  to  him,  and 
to  mind  their  own  concerns." 

A  gem  of  pure  comedy  is  enshrined  in  the 
same  letter  in  the  form  of  an  allusion  to  Prince 
George,  which  shows  that  the  muddle-headed 
Dane  was  in  some  sense  the  despair  of  the  King 
and  his  spiritual  guides.  All  attempts  to  show 
him  the  error  of  his  ways  produced  the  same 
effect  as  if  a  spruce  master  of  Italian  fence,  in 
cambric  shirt  and  velvet  breeches,  tried  to  engage 
with  delicate  rapier  a  giant,  cased  in  armour  from 
head  to  heel.  The  result  was  exquisitely  ludicrous. 
The  man  in  steel  could  not  hurt  his  assailant  so 
lithe  of  foot  and  agile  in  defence  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  finest  blade  ever  forged  could  not 
penetrate  the  giant's  cuirass.  "  He  is  a  prince," 
wrote  Petre,  "  with  whom  I  cannot  discourse  of 
religion.  Luther  was  never  more  in  earnest  than 
Prince  George.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  King 
James,  who  loves  not  to  be  denied,  never  has 
pressed  him  in  that  matter." 

Anne  and  the  Prince  were  therefore  excluded 
from  the  circle  of  the  King's  apostleship.  The 

123 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

lady,  however,  possessed  the  gift  of  creating 
grievances  for  herself  out  of  the  figments  of  her 
imagination.  In  this  way  she  professed  to  antici- 
pate persecution  because  of  her  religion.  The 
notion  was  a  triumph  of  perverse  ingenuity  and 
demonstrated  how  ill-disposed  was  Anne  to  do 
justice  to  her  unfortunate  father.  There  was  not 
a  shadow  of  foundation  for  her  fears.  As  a  child 
he  had  handed  her  over  to  Protestant  tutors  ; 
as  a  young  girl  she  had  enjoyed  the  fullest 
liberty  to  practise  her  religion.  When  James's 
family  were  in  exile  in  Brussels,  in  the  heart  of 
a  Catholic  land,  neither  he  nor  Mary  of  Modena 
ever  dreamt  of  taking  advantage  of  her  isolation 
to  shake  her  religious  convictions. 

Nevertheless  Anne  pretended  to  fear  that  as  a 
married  lady,  living  in  the  public  eye  at  the  Cock- 
pit, surrounded  by  comforts  provided  by  her  father, 
the  freedom  of  conscience  permitted  her  under 
directly  opposite  conditions  would  be  withdrawn 
in  favour  of  moral  suasion,  if  not  of  the  rack  and 
thumbscrew. 

Deep  grief,  however,  weighed  upon  the  King 
by  reason  of  Anne's  adherence  to  the  Established 
Church.  Earnest,  well-nigh  to  the  point  of 
fanaticism,  how  could  he  but  desire  with  pas- 
sionate intensity  that  one  he  loved  should  be  on 
the  side  he  was  confident  was  right  ?  But  while 
his  affection  made  him  long  for  her  conversion, 

124 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

it  raised  up  at  the  same  time  an  insurmountable 
barrier  against  any  measures  which  could  occasion 
her  distress.  He  probably  hoped  that  in  the 
long  run  the  force  of  example  would  influence 
her  more  powerfully  than  an  appeal  to  her 
intellect ;  for  at  her  father's  accession,  and  during 
the  succeeding  years,  she  saw  men  of  position 
and  ability  one  by  one  give  their  adhesion  to  the 
ancient  faith. 

In  the  case  of  a  young  woman  governed  by 
her  emotions,  nothing  could  be  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  follow  such  a  lead,  and 
adopt  a  course  rendered  fashionable  by  the  King 
and  Queen,  a  course  which  the  conduct  of  men 
of  talent  approved  as  reasonable,  and  that  of 
astute  statesmen  confirmed  as  politic.  And 
turning  from  the  living  to  the  dead,  and  from 
the  seventeenth  to  the  earlier  centuries,  zealots 
on  the  King's  side  would  cite  the  example  of 
the  great  Saxons,  and  Normans,  and  Plan- 
tagenets,  to  sustain  her  should  she  turn  to 
the  Bishop  of  Rome  for  guidance  in  matters 
of  faith  ;  while  the  example  of  France  was  before 
her  eyes  to  prove  that  unity  of  faith  might  mean 
implacable  hostility  in  politics,  for  Louis  Quatorze, 
a  bigoted  Catholic,  had  for  his  enemy  the  Pope, 
while  that  model  Lutheran,  William  of  Orange, 
her  cousin  and  brother-in-law,  was  actually 
fighting  the  battles  of  the  Papacy. 

125 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

To  a  mind,  however,  indisposed  to  decisive 
action,  it  is  always  more  agreeable  to  remain  at 
rest  than  to  move,  and  it  is  this  quality  of  heroic 
inertia  which  probably  preserved  Anne  to  the 
Church  of  England,  more  especially  as  it  har- 
monised with  the  prejudices  which  passed  for 
convictions  in  the  case  of  Prince  George,  and, 
what  was  more  important  still,  commanded  the 
approval  of  the  Churchills,  the  real  autocrats  of 
the  Cockpit. 

How  little  logical  is  human  nature,  even  when 
its  whole  strength  of  purpose  is  concentrated  on 
a  single  aim,  is  illustrated  by  the  honours  paid  to 
Anne  when  she  worshipped  at  the  Royal  chapels. 
At  Whitehall  she  attended  in  State  the  services 
of  the  Church  of  England,  and  while  the  King 
knelt  at  Mass  before  a  Catholic  altar  praying  for 
her  conversion,  and  reflected  with  pain  that  in 
the  most  sacred  things  of  life  he  was  widely 
separated  from  the  child  so  dear  to  him,  the 
Princess,  when  attending  chapel,  was  by  his 
orders  accorded  the  same  honours  as  if  she  were 
Sovereign  of  England.  This  was  the  fashion  in 
which  the  doting  father  persecuted  his  child,  hug- 
ging to  his  soul,  no  doubt,  the  delusion  that  he 
knew  Anne,  gentle,  yielding  Anne,  so  unassum- 
ing and  naive,  the  very  lady,  as  he  thought,  to  be 
touched  by  those  chivalrous  attentions  which  sub- 
due the  affections  and  conquer  through  the  heart. 

126 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

To  her  he  looked  as  the  ultimate  heir  to  the 
Throne,  and  he  probably  solaced  himself  with 
the  thought  that  the  Princess's  talents  and  in- 
clinations were  not  of  the  order  to  attempt 
another  revolution  in  the  nation's  beliefs,  if  at 
her  accession  she  should  find  the  most  potent 
influences  in  English  life  in  unity  once  more 
with  Latin  Christendom.  Her  temperament,  he 
argued,  was  one  to  acquiesce  in  facts,  and  her 
policy  in  religion,  as  in  other  matters,  would 
follow  the  line  of  least  resistance. 

He  could  base  no  fond  illusions  of  the  kind  on 
Mary's  future.  Nothing  was  more  unlikely  than 
that  she  should  ever  forsake  Protestantism. 
When  very  young  she  had  left  her  father's  home 
for  Holland,  and  there  had  fallen  under  the 
iron  dominion  of  a  gloomy  and  austere  sect,  a 
dominion  from  which  for  her  there  could  be  no 
emancipation.  No  wife  ever  more  devotedly  put 
off  all  the  attachments  of  childhood,  of  home, 
and  of  country,  than  did  she,  making  her 
husband  her  idol,  his  people  her  people,  and  his 
faith  her  own.  Having  cheerfully  made  every 
sacrifice  demanded  of  her,  both  her  lord  and 
her  fate  were  alike  obdurate  to  the  unhappy 
Princess.  Her  husband  could  spare  her  but  few 
crumbs  of  affection,  and  to  fill  her  arms  and 
bless  her  loneliness,  there  came  no  child. 

Heavy  as  was  this  cross  to  Mary,  to  James  it 
127 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

must  have  seemed  in  some  degree  a  just  visita- 
tion on  the  House  that  had  plagued  him  with  so 
many  anxieties,  anxieties  from  which  he  could 
find  no  refuge  either  as  duke  or  king.  If,  there- 
fore, Mary  and  William  should  succeed  him, 
their  reign  would  be,  as  it  were,  but  an  inter- 
regnum, after  which  his  beloved  Anne  would 
succeed  her  childless  sister.  By  that  time,  with 
the  help  of  Heaven,  she  would  be  a  Catholic  and 
her  children  likewise,  and  should  her  children 
fail,  the  next  heirs  were  his  Catholic  nieces,  the 
daughters  of  his  dead  sister,  Henrietta  of  Orleans. 
So  the  King  in  his  cabinet  mapped  out  the 
future  of  England,  and  so  in  all  likelihood  would 
it  have  been,  but  for  the  Royal  architect  himself, 
who,  in  emergencies  that  called  for  a  Richelieu, 
was  never  more  than  his  father's  son,  never  more 
truly  a  Stuart  than  when  to  be  a  Stuart  was  the 
certain  avenue  to  ruin. 

While  James  was  risking  his  Crown  for  his 
religion,  and  his  soul  for  his  mistress,  Sunderland, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  directing  his  schemes 
towards  supplanting  Rochester  in  the  Lord 
Treasureship.  Father  Petre  was  working  for  his 
Church  with  more  zeal  than  judgment,  and  his 
Sovereign  was  demanding  in  vain  as  his  reward 
from  the  Pope,  a  cardinal's  hat.  One  can  easily 
see  reason  for  the  employment  of  these  men  on 
a  board,  the  existence  of  which,  was  an  in- 

128 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

vitation  to  ruin.  But  it  must  remain  a  puzzle 
why  even  James  II.,  who  was  so  ingenuous  in 
his  choice  of  advisers,  should  have  included 
Henry  Jermyn  on  this  ill-starred  conclave — 
Jermyn,  the  villain  of  the  love  story  which  had 
long  ago  made  the  beautiful  Jennings  the  idol 
of  the  town. 

Anne  would  have  special  reasons  for  curiosity 
concerning  Henry  Jermyn.     Her  interest  would 
have  the  usual  Stuart  motive.     Her  cousin  by 
marriage,  the  beautiful  Theodosia  Hyde,  wife  of 
Clarendon's   son,   had   fallen   headlong    in   love 
with  Henry.     Never  were  a  coxcomb's  ravages 
amongst  the  hearts  of  the  fair  more  inexplicable 
than   his.     Theodosia   was   remarkable  for  her 
loveliness   in   an   age   more   critical    of   female 
charms  than  any  England  had  ever  before  seen. 
Yet  she  lost  her  heart  to  a  professional  fop  with- 
out either  majesty  of  bearing  or  grace  of  form, 
but  with  conceit  enough  to  match  the  beauty  of 
an  Adonis  and  the  talents  of  a  Sunderland.    His 
physique  was   rather  diminutive.     But  Jermyn 
was   not   taught   modesty  by   his   stature.      If 
affectation  could  clothe  with  an  air  of  bravery  a 
gentleman  whose  appearance  was  only  common- 
place, then  could  Jermyn  hold  his  own  with  the 
handsomest  gallants  of  the   Court.      But   alas 
for  the    impotence   of    merely   wishing    to    be 
beautiful !  Jermyn  only  made  himself  ridiculous 

VOL.    I  129  K 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  eyes  keen  enough  to  relish  his  rebellion  against 
the  decrees  of  incompetent  nature. 

That  the  coxcomb  had  plenty  of  courage  was 
proved  in  a  duel  about  the  infamous  Lady 
Shrewsbury,  which  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  And 
that  he  was  bold  and  stubborn  was  shown  in 
other  adventures.  But  it  was  not  by  flood  or 
field  that  Henry  sought  the  path  to  glory 
and  advancement.  As  one  of  James's  special 
favourites,  and  a  member  of  the  secret  committee 
of  four,  the  prize  he  set  before  himself  was,  of  all 
others,  the  captaincy  of  the  Lifeguards  !  Of  old 
he  had  indeed  threatened  to  go  forth  to  meet  death 
on  the  stricken  field,  but  that  was  under  circum- 
stances exquisitely  absurd,  circumstances  which 
had  brought  him  into  antagonism  with  Talbot, 
as  his  rival  for  the  favour  of  Frances  Jennings. 

Jermyn  had  been  banished  from  Court  by 
Charles  II.,  whose  pride  was  hurt  at  the  favours 
shown  him  by  one  of  the  most  indulgent  of 
courtesans.  Charles,  however,  was  soon  tired  of 
war  with  the  lady,  and  on  the  conclusion  of  a 
treaty  of  peace  the  woebegone  Henry  was 
granted  permission  to  return  from  his  exile  to 
bask  in  the  agreeable  temptations  of  the  Court. 
But  other  people  were  proud  as  well  as  the 
King;  and  "le  petit  Henri,"  rather  than  be 
moved  about  like  a  pawn  on  a  chessboard, 
though  it  were  to  please  a  king,  retired  to  his 

130 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

place  in  the  country,  and  there  set  up  as  a 
philosopher  amongst  neighbours  who  were  filled 
with  admiration  at  the  wisdom  of  a  recluse 
thus  calmly  resigned  to  pastoral  solitude,  after 
revelling  in  the  vanity  of  the  gayest  of  Courts. 

From  his  hermitage  Jermyn  at  length  sallied 
forth  to  subdue  the  charming  Frances  Jennings, 
whose  radiant  beauty  had  already  enslaved  the 
reckless  Talbot.  Frances,  in  the  days  of  her 
peerless  youth,  was  the  jewel  of  the  maids-of- 
honour,  her  scornful  laughter  ever  making  silvery 
music,  to  which  the  humour  in  her  glorious  eyes 
sparkled  in  rhythm.  This  was  the  bird  that 
Jermyn  came  to  town  to  snare  and  destroy  ;  the 
bird  that  Talbot  wished  to  make  the  idol  of  his 
life. 

Here  then  was  a  battle  for  a  fair  ladye,  a  battle 
between  pigmy  and  giant.  It  was  David  and 
Goliath  over  again,  met  as  duellists  on  the  field 
of  love,  where  the  weapons  were  the  uncertain 
things  that  captivate  a  woman's  fancy.  The 
precise  Jermyn  and  the  swaggering  Talbot  were 
soon  the  joy  of  the  whole  Court,  never  more 
elated  than  when  a  contest  for  a  lady's  favour 
blazed  into  rivalry  so  fierce  that  every  eye  could 
behold  the  sport  of  the  conflagration. 

The  Count  de  Grammont  says  that  Jermyn 's 
motive  in  returning  to  Court  was  to  bring 
dishonour  on  Frances,  and  embellish  with  her 

131 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

spotless  name  the  roll  of  those  who  had  fallen 
victims  to  his  elusive  fascinations.  One  who  had 
discomfited  the  King  anticipated  little  difficulty 
in  effecting  this  gallant  enterprise.  The  bold 
Jermyn  began  his  attack  with  the  address  and 
audacity  of  the  ever- victorious  lady-killer.  Virtue 
personified  as  Frances,  and  a  dandified  Mephisto- 
pheles  as  Henry,  played  together,  while  the  Court 
looked  on  and  laughed  at  the  game,  which  boded 
ruin  for  the  one  who  had  all  to  lose  in  this 
pastime  so  enchanting. 

As  Jermyn  had  never  seen  the  girl  before  his 
dismissal  from  Court,  if  he  returned  with  the 
special  object  of  besieging  her  virtue,  he  could 
offer  no  excuse  in  palliation  of  his  sinister  designs. 
Talbot,  who  loved  the  young  maid-of-honour 
devotedly  and  ardently,  and  coveted  the  privilege 
of  making  her  his  wife,  must  have  been  beside 
himself  with  jealousy  if  he  suspected  the  shameful 
prospect  which  his  rival  is  said  to  have  conceived. 
The  ravishing  Frances  behaved  in  the  midst  of 
this  fierce  warfare  for  her  heart  with  the  weak- 
ness of  a  woman  and  the  strength  of  a  Jennings 
of  the  race  of  the  inimitable  Sarah.  The  delicious 
excitement  of  the  fray  thrilled  her.  Eyes,  ever 
bright,  shone  now  with  added  brilliancy. 

While  Jermyn  and  Talbot  were  the  Richmonds 
of  the  field,  many  another  heart  panted  sad  and 
sore  from  wounds  inflicted  by  the  heroine's  deadly 

132 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

glances.  In  the  intoxication  of  girlish  vanity  she 
fell  in  love  with  the  wrong  man ;  but  while 
giving  Jermyn  her  heart  to  lacerate,  of  the  price- 
less treasure  of  her  honour  neither  vanity  nor 
passion  could  rob  her.  Then  the  comedy  became 
suddenly  sad,  and  the  pomp  of  forces  joining 
battle  was  eclipsed  in  the  turmoil  that  presaged 
defeat  and  victory,  victory  and  defeat. 

The  invincible  beau  tarried  long  about  asking 
the  maid-of-honour  to  be  his  wife.  These  at 
first  were  days  of  sweet  uncertainty  for  the  girl. 
The  beau  was  shy  because  he  dare  not  tempt 
fortune  !  Poor  trembling  knight,  fearful  to  hear 
his  doom  decreed  for  ever  !  So  the  maid  deluded 
and  flattered  herself.  She  looked  in  her  mirror, 
and  what  she  saw  there  satisfied  her.  Nature 
had  moulded  her  divinely  fair,  with  charms  which 
Nature  alone  can  express,  and  she  only  when  in 
a  moment  of  boundless  prodigality  she  sends  forth 
youth,  radiantly  lovely,  from  her  warm  embrace. 

Enamoured  of  herself,  how  could  she  believe 
that  her  favoured  lover's  designs  were  ignoble  ? 
But  at  length  came  disillusionment.  His  visits 
grew  less  frequent,  his  wit  less  scintillating, 
because  the  lover  had  failed  to  prepare  his  dis- 
course for  the  entertainment  of  his  mistress. 
The  dream  of  love  was  dead.  The  maid-of- 
honour  had  never  before  tasted  the  bitterness  of 
such  humiliation.  Oh !  that  first  crushing  dis- 

133 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

appointment  of  the  dearest  hopes  of  girlhood. 
Could  walls  but  speak,  there  was  a  chamber 
within  the  Palace  that  tales  might  tell  of  a 
disconsolate  maiden's  grief,  of  heart-broken  sobs 
and  floods  of  tears  that  filled  the  night  with 
mourning,  while  all  around  her  slept  soundly  the 
gay  companions  of  her  waking  hours.  Was 
there  ever  a  girl  more  unfortunate,  ever  one  more 
foolish  1  Thus  wailed  Frances  when  all  alone 
before  Heaven  she  laid  aside  the  mask  of  pride, 
and  the  airs  of  the  gay  coquette  who  never  a 
scar  had  received  in  the  tourney  of  love.  For 
how  could  Frances  know  that  her  story  was  as 
old  as  the  world,  and  that  every  night,  in  every 
land,  the  eyes  of  beauty  were  red  with  weeping 
for  the  folly  she  too  late  lamented,  the  folly  of 
giving  her  heart  too  soon  ! 

Jermyn,  eager  to  escape  from  the  dilemma  in 
which  his  impudence  had  placed  him  without 
ruining  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  breeding, 
volunteered  to  accompany  an  expedition  to  the 
coast  of  Guinea.  The  final  scene  between  the 
pair  was  an  ideal  morsel  of  Court  comedy. 
Enough  of  this  leave-taking  has  been  handed 
down  to  enable  us  to  imagine  the  rest. 

"  Farewell,  Mistress  Jennings  !  "  said  Hemy 
with  a  sigh,  as  though  he  were  the  most  miserable 
of  men  at  being  banished  from  her  presence, 
perhaps  for  ever. 

134 


From  an  engraving  after  the  painting  by  Verelet. 

THE   BEAUTIFUL   FRANCES  JENNINGS   (DUCHESS   OF   TYRCONNEL). 

p.  134. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

"  Farewell,  Master  Jermyn  !  "  cried  the  maid 
right  merrily,  laughter  in  her  eyes  if  not  in  her 
voice.  "  But  why  so  sad  going  forth  to  this 
splendid  adventure  over  the  ocean  to  the  Coast 
of  Gold  ?  The  thought  of  it  warms  my  woman's 
heart.  In  my  veins  I  feel  the  mysterious  call  of 
the  African  wilds.  If  I  were  but  a  soldier !  " 
And  she  stamped  her  little  foot  as  if  she  would 
hear  a  martial  spur  jingle  on  her  heel  and  a 
sword  rattle  at  her  side. 

Henry  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though 
volumes  could  not  tell  the  story  of  his  consuming 
passion,  and  the  dejection  of  spirit  in  which  he 
was  leaving  England,  and  alas  !  leaving  her. 

"  Thou  railest, beauty, "murmured  the  coxcomb, 
his  tactics  thrown  into  confusion  by  persiflage 
when  he  had  rehearsed  the  part  with  tears. 

"  Pray,  Master  Jermyn,"  pleaded  Frances 
mockingly,  "pardon  a  poor  maid-of-honour  if 
she  cannot  find  tears  for  your  happy  fortune, 
if  she  cannot  repine  at  the  laurels  that  invite 
you  far  away  .  .  .  even  though  she  must  stay 
behind." 

All  the  scorn  and  mockery  died  out  of  her 
voice  as  she  uttered  the  last  words.  They  came 
slowly  and  painfully,  almost  in  a  whisper,  and 
with  half-averted  head,  lest  her  melting  eyes 
and  the  trembling  of  her  sweet  lips  should 
betray  the  fulness  of  her  heart. 

135 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Jermyn  had  acted  a  leading  part  in  too  many 
tender  scenes  to  be  deceived.  His  courage  rose. 
Hope  stormed  his  breast.  Was  the  ice-maiden 
thawing  ?  Ineffable  delight.  Had  he  stumbled 
on  victory  along  the  line  of  defeat  ? 

He  coined  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  the 
best  excuse  he  could  for  the  sudden  passion  that 
had  seized  him  for  African  adventure. 

"No  excuses,"  she  answered,  with  a  ringing 
laugh  and  eyes  innocent  of  a  trace  of  grief  in  their 
violent  merriment.  "  You  have  already,"  she 
went  on  gaily,  "  made  captives  of  so  many  that 
you  do  right  to  go  in  search  of  fresh  laurels  and 
foreign  conquests." 

Henry  was  speechless.  It  was  indeed  time  for 
retreat  without  waiting  to  study  appearances, 
and  call  it  an  advance. 

"  I  trust,"  she  added,  warming  to  her  part  with 
spirit  worthy  of  Sarah's  sister,  "  that  you  may 
bring  back  to  London  from  Africa  the  foreign 
ladies  you  enslave,  in  order  to  supply  the  places 
of  those  whom  your  absence  may  bring  to  the 
grave.  .  .  .  You  have  so  many  matters  to  engage 
your  time  until  your  departure  that  I  could 
never  forgive  myself  for  stealing  another  moment 
of  it.  I  cannot,  therefore,  console  myself  with 
the  expectation  of  seeing  you  again  before  you 
join  your  ship.  .  .  .  Farewell !  " 

How  beautiful  the  imperious  girl   looked  to 
136 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  hardened  dandy,  now  that  his  last  card  was 
played  and  his  dismissal  spoken  !  How  golden 
her  hair !  How  inexpressibly  inviting  the  hundred 
nameless  charms  of  a  creature  all  wondrous 
curves  and  tapering  lines  !  The  red  lips  smiled 
sweetly  on  him,  over  her  eyes  the  lashes  drooped 
tenderly.  Incomparable  Frances !  Lost  for 
ever,  and  all  for  a  tiny  band  of  gold  to  encircle 
one  of  those  lissom  little  fingers,  and  a  parson's 
blessing.  Poor  Jermyn  ! 

The  dandy  was  gone.  But  the  comedy  was 
over,  only  to  give  place  to  tragi-comedy.  Jermyn, 
after  all,  remained  in  England,  and  Frances, 
unable  to  endure  the  mortification  of  being  jilted 
by  an  insignificant  coxcomb,  jumped  at  an  offer 
of  marriage  from  Sir  George  Hamilton,  a  member 
of  the  Abercorn  family,  a  gentleman  without 
fortune,  but  with  an  illimitable  appetite  for  fight- 
ing. Soon,  however,  the  beautiful  bride  was  a 
widow,  and  Providence,  an  ever-vigilant  manager 
of  the  world's  stage,  contrived  that  Talbot  should 
opportunely  lose  his  wife,  whom  he  had  taken  as 
a  helpmate  in  his  disappointment.  The  pair  of 
mourners  met  again  in  France.  The  flaxen- 
haired  widow  was  as  fatal  to  Dick  as  the  flaxen- 
haired  maid  ;  but  the  widow  was  kinder  far. 
They  were  married  in  Paris,  and  henceforth  he 
had  as  his  ally  a  woman  as  clever  as  Sarah 
Churchill,  and  one  as  daring  and  restless  in 

137 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

her  ambitions,  but  one  far  more  richly  endowed 
with  the  qualities  that  win  love  and  strew  its 
path  with  roses. 

Circumstances  threw  the  sisters  into  different 
camps.  Sarah's  future  was  inevitably  linked 
with  that  of  the  Princess  Anne,  and  a  dark  out- 
look she  must  have  felt  it  sometimes  at  this 
period,  with  George  of  Denmark  enthusiastic 
only  over  his  bottle,  and  Anne  ever  fretting  at 
the  inexorable  law  which  condemns  children  to 
await  upon  their  parents  for  their  inheritance. 
Frances,  on  the  other  hand,  was  naturally  a 
loyalist.  Her  husband,  if  not  the  King's  first 
counsellor,  was  second  to  none  in  his  confidence. 
She  was  a  Countess,  thanks  to  the  King.  Her 
husband  was  lieutenant-general  commanding  the 
Irish  forces,  thanks  to  the  King ;  and  in  a  little 
while  she  would  herself  rank  next  to  a  queen,  for 
she  would,  she  anticipated,  be  wife  of  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland.  She  was  loyal,  therefore, 
not  only  for  favours  past,  but  for  favours  to  come ; 
and  if  at  times  she  bridled  at  the  thought  that 
Henry  Jermyn,  her  faithless  lover  of  the  old 
days,  shared  with  her  husband  the  King's  most 
secret  aspirations,  to  soothe  her  resentment  there 
was  always  the  reflection  that  in  her  encounter 
with  the  famous  coxcomb  she  had  dimmed 
beyond  repair  his  prestige  as  a  man  of  invincible 
gallantry. 

138 


CHAPTER  X 

"T  ET  some  prince  of  magicians,  risen  from 
«?i— ^  forgotten  tombs  of  Chaldea,  wave  his 
wand  above  the  city  in  the  purple  dome  of 
night  and  weave  a  wondrous  spell,  murmuring 
incantations  learned  in  schools  that  now  lie  level 
with  the  sands  of  the  desert,  but  which  of  old 
were  cradles  of  Eastern  mystery  where  was 
taught  the  lore  of  signs  unfathomable. 

Silvery  beams,  like  vagrant  rays  from  far-distant 
stars,  flit  across  the  velvet  pall  of  the  sky.  In  a 
twinkling  they  come  and  are  gone  north,  south, 
east,  and  west — signs,  indeed,  unfathomable  to 
those  who  possess  not  the  secret  talisman.  But 
to  those  who  know  they  are  beams  of  light 
with  strands  inwoven  of  gossamer  grey,  faintly 
luminous  filagree,  foreign  to  earth,  banned  of 
heaven,  born  of  a  necromancer's  impious  power. 
They  trace  the  flash  of  the  Chaldean's  wand 
lulling  Nature  to  sleep,  and  evolving  a  world 
that  for  one  fantastic  moment  obeys  the  wizard's 
rebel  rule.  .  .  . 

A  curtain  of  blackness,  dark  as  blindness,  blots 
139 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

out  the  city.  Perhaps  it  is  blindness,  for  one 
knows  not  the  way  of  the  magician.  Only  for 
a  moment,  then  the  curtain  quivers  as  though  a 
breeze  played  with  its  vast  inky  folds,  and  shade 
softens  into  shade  until  through  the  abyss  of  jet 
things  take  shape,  though  dimly.  .  .  . 

Lo !  the  spell  is  woven !  The  city  is  enchanted  ! 
Here  is  London  of  the  Stuarts  ! 

Time,  dazed  and  blindfold,  has  gone  astray 
over  the  passes  through  the  clouds  of  night, 
and  shrunken,  dingy  London  of  the  days  of 
Anne  lies  before  us,  with  the  dead  back  from 
their  sepulchres,  sleeping  or  waking,  mourning  or 
roystering,  as  they  did  long  ago  when  they  still 
had  some  choice  in  their  parts,  and  the  town  was 
in  reality  London  of  the  late  seventeenth  century. 

The  curtain  of  blackness  has  dissolved,  and  it 
is  beneath  a  starlit  sky  we  roam  past  the  shrine 
of  Our  Blessed  Lady  of  Rouncyval  at  Charing 
Cross  down  Whitehall. 

Hark  to  the  tramp  of  the  sentinel  pacing 
round  the  ancient  home  of  the  kings  in  the 
echoing  silence  of  the  night ! 

On  through  the  gates  and  courtyards,  past  the 
guards,  who  call  out  no  challenge,  for  citizens 
come  and  go  freely  here.  It  is  the  castle  of  their 
lord,  and,  with  the  familiar  custom  of  feudal 
times,  it  is  their  privilege  to  make  his  home  in 
some  sense  their  own. 

140 


ANNE  AS  PRINCESS   ROYAL. 


p.  140. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  Palace  erected  by  successive  monarchs, 
without  any  uniformity  of  design,  formed  never- 
theless a  picturesque  citadel  of  Royalty.  Barely 
a  vestige  of  the  great  rambling  pile  remains 
to-day ;  but  if  one  conjures  up  a  vision  of 
Hampton  Court  at  midnight,  with  its  solemn 
courts  and  mysterious  alleys,  its  haunted  lanes, 
its  deep  arches  plunged  in  gloom,  its  narrow  doors 
that  seem  to  have  been  slammed  for  centuries, 
its  casements  glistening  darkly,  significant  of 
deeds  being  done  behind  them  that  may  not  see 
the  light — then  with  this  picture  in  the  mind's 
eye,  and  being  made  aware  of  the  general  re- 
semblance, travelling  backwards  through  the 
centuries,  one  easily  recognises  by  the  Thames 
this  Palace  of  Whitehall,  where  sleeps  King 
James  II. 

Forward  now  to  the  Cockpit,  where  abides 
with  her  Danish  lord  the  Princess  Anne.  The 
Royal  apartments  and  those  of  the  great  officers 
rise  above  the  river.  Between  them  and  the 
Cockpit  lie  the  Palace  gardens,  the  bowling- 
green,  and  the  tennis-court ;  while  spreading 
away  behind  is  the  Park,  a  noble  expanse  of 
green,  draped  now  in  the  demure  vesture  of 
night. 

The  oaken  door  opens  without  word  or  touch, 
for  to-night  magic  reigns  in  Whitehall,  and 
crossing  the  threshold  of  the  Cockpit  one  holds 

141 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

one's  breath  in  the  very  centre  of  the  enchanted 
Castle. 

Softly  now  up  the  oaken  staircase,  along  the 
corridors,  where  shadows  chase  the  shadows  and 
ghosts  lurk  in  the  folds  of  priceless  tapestry. 
Knights  that  once  rode  with  the  chivalry  of 
Europe  against  the  Saracen  frown  from  embra- 
sures of  massive  gilding,  and  dames,  surprised, 
look  modestly  out  from  the  dark  panels  upon  the 
daring  intruder  who  has  groped  his  way  thither 
from  the  strange  world  of  a  later  century.  The 
statuary,  the  armour,  the  tapestries,  the  paintings 
tell  silently  and  grimly  the  history  of  England, 
and  many  a  page,  too,  of  the  romance  of  immortal 
Norman  and  Plantagenet,  of  bold  Lancastrian  and 
crafty  Tudor.  Memorials,  too,  are  here  of  a  dif- 
ferent breed — the  Stuarts.  Here  is  a  portrait  of 
young  Prince  Henry,  Anne's  grand-uncle,  snatched 
away  at  the  dawn  of  manhood,  gallant,  fair,  and 
wise,  as  youth  with  eager  blood  and  mettlesome 
spirit  may  ever  be.  There  are  eyes  peering  from 
out  a  life-size  canvas,  chilling  one's  blood  with 
their  ineffable  wistfulness.  They  enchant  in  the 
midst  of  enchantment,  for  there  is  sorcery  in  the 
very  name  of  Mary  of  Scotland  ! 

Ah  !  Here  is  the  antechamber  we  seek,  a 
lighted  taper  throwing  into  bizarre  relief,  like 
a  portrait  of  Rembrandt,  the  figure  of  a  gentle- 
woman-in-waiting  ;  and  there,  beyond,  with  the 

142 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

shadows  piled  behind  her,  blending  with  the  rich 
tapestries  and  furniture  of  oak  and  ebony,  sits  a 
young  matron,  her  destiny  written  on  her  pensive 
brow.  It  is  the  Princess  Anne  herself,  pouring 
forth  at  her  writing-table  the  secrets  of  her  soul, 
the  secrets  that  now  are  secrets  no  longer,  for 
blazoned  to  the  world  we  read  them  as  history, 
and  know  the  writer  for  what  she  really  was — 
know  her  as  the  gentlewoman  dozing  in  the 
adjacent  gallery  never  knew  her,  though  she 
looked  into  her  eyes  from  day  to  day,  and  waited 
on  her  night  after  night,  when  these  outpourings 
of  a  princess's  heart  were  fermenting  in  the  busy 
brain  which  kept  her  from  her  couch.  Little  did 
Anne  opine  that  these  letters,  so  laboriously 
conned  over  and  penned  with  such  regal  con- 
tempt for  syntax  and  spelling,  should  be  pre- 
served to  establish  her  place — a  sorry  place — in 
the  Pantheon  of  Queens.  They  reveal  the  Prin- 
cess's soul  more  truly  than  ever  did  the  confessions 
of  an  Augustine,  those  of  a  great  sinner  and  saint, 
or  the  diary  of  an  a  Kempis,  the  daily  thoughts 
of  a  monk  who  learned  to  be  a  seer  in  the  solitude 
of  a  convent  garden.  For  mortal  man  or  woman 
is  neither  all  shining  perfection  nor  great  sins. 
The  fabric  of  human  nature  is  woven  of  in- 
finitesimal faults  and  infinitesimal  virtues,  and 
in  Anne  Stuart  they  were  woven  into  a  texture 
wondrous  fine,  so  fine  indeed  that  the  pattern 

143 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

would  often  lack  either  colour  or  form  were  her 
letters  not  there  to  light  up  all  the  threads  elusive 
but  precious.  Becoming  accustomed  to  the  dim 
light,  one  might  with  an  effort  of  imagination 
discern  the  arrangement  of  the  Princess's  draw- 
ing-room, and  with  eyes  touched  with  the  magic 
glamour  of  this  night  give  form  to  the  shadows, 
while  Anne,  alternately  thinking  and  writing, 
laboriously  plods  on  with  her  letter. 

Italian  cabinets  of  exquisite  design,  carved  with 
superlative  artistry,  are  filled  with  treasures  of 
every  land,  curios  from  near  and  far  accumulated 
by  her  Royal  ancestors.  Tapestries  from  the 
finest  looms  of  France  and  the  East  adorn  the 
walls,  and  drape  the  massive  frames  inset  with 
masterpieces  of  the  famous  painters  of  Italy, 
Spain,  and  Holland.  There  are  gorgeous  rugs 
from  the  Levant,  skins  from  the  wilds  of  Europe 
and  Africa,  dainty  card-tables  of  precious  wood 
from  the  virgin  forests  of  America,  ivory  statu- 
ettes, each  worth  a  noble's  ransom,  rare  volumes 
and  prints,  gifts  from  the  ambassadors  of  princes 
and  the  grandees  of  many  lands.  It  was  a 
drawing-room  worthy  not  only  of  the  second 
lady  in  Britain:  the  eyes  of  Marie  The'rese 
herself,  trained  to  every  perfection  in  art  and 
luxury,  might  here  have  rested  content. 

Unconscious  of  the  prying  eyes  that  look  out 
upon  her  from  the  gloom,  Anne  writes  on.     The 

144 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURf 

theme  is  Lady  Sunderland,  wife  of  the  bold 
Robert,  and  those  lines  are  intended  for  her 
sister,  the  Princess  of  Orange.  But  there  is  no 
honour  in  witchcraft.  Between  the  wraith  of 
the  Royal  lady  and  the  enchanted  living  secret 
can  there  be  none.  Peer  over  the  graceful 
shoulder  where  the  light  falls  upon  the  pages. 
It  is  the  hour  of  judgment.  Let  Anne  reveal 
her  soul : 

"  The  Lady  Sunderland  plays  the  hypocrite 
more  than  ever,  for  she  goes  to  St.  Martins 
church  morning  and  afternoon  because  there  are 
not  people  enough  to  see  her  at  Whitehall  chapel, 
and  is  half  an  hour  before  other  people,  and  half 
an  hour  after  everybody  is  gone,  at  her  private 
devotions.  She  runs  from  church  to  church,  and 
keeps  up  such  a  clatter  with  her  devotions  that  it 
really  turns  one's  stomach.  Sure  there  never 
was  a  couple  so  well  matched  as  she  and  her 
good  husband,  for  she  is  throughout  the  greatest 
jade  that  ever  was  ;  so  is  he.  ..." 

Anne  throws  down  the  pen.  Her  vocabulary 
fails  her  ;  or  can  it  be  that  she  has  misgivings 
about  her  spelling  ?  Bother  spelling  I  She 
yawns.  Still  that  word  eludes  her.  Something 
that,  despite  magic,  sounds  like  a  gentlewoman 
snoring  comes  from  the  antechamber.  Anne 
puckers  her  brows.  Had  she  been  an  Elizabeth 
she  would  have  sworn  roundly.  But  Anne  was 
feminine  always,  so  feminine  that  she  could  be 

VOL.    I  145  L 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

very  vulgar,  with  the  vulgarity  of  a  too  motherly 
charwoman,  but  never  masculine  enough  to  be 
boisterously  profane.  Checked  but  not  defeated, 
Anne  took  up  her  pen  again. 

"  So  is  he,"  she  repeated  aloud  to  collect  the 
current  of  her  thoughts.  Then  the  pen  ploughed 
forward  to  the  completion  of  the  idea  : 

"...  The  subtlest  workingests  villain  that  is 
on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"  Subtlest  workingests  villain  1 "  Brave  Anne  1 
The  devil  take  the  dictionary !  Why  should  it 
not  be  "  workingests  "  if  you  wish  it  so  ?  Ah, 
Compton,  Bishop  of  London,  at  one  time  of  the 
Life  Guards,  you  it  was  who  taught  the  Lady 
Anne  to  spell  1  Perhaps  you  did  your  best  with 
your  Royal  pupil.  Perhaps  they  spelled  so  in 
your  regiment. 

The  theme  relieves  Anne's  feelings.  To  her 
sister  she  may  unburthen  herself  of  things  she 
dare  breathe  aloud  only  to  Sarah  Churchill,  and 
her  devoted,  stupid,  George.  With  lips  com- 
pressed to  a  thin,  malignant  line  of  red,  and 
brows  drawn  peevishly  together,  let  her  sketch 
of  Lady  Sunderland  proceed : 

"  She  is  a  flattering,  dissembling,  false  woman  ; 
but  she  has  so  fawning  and  endearing  a  way, 
that  she  will  deceive  anybody  at  first,  and  it  is 
not  possible  to  find  out  all  her  ways  in  a  little 
time.  She  cares  not  at  what  rate  she  lives,  but 
never  pays  anybody.  She  will  cheat,  though  it 

146 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

be  for  a  little.  Then  she  has  had  her  gallants, 
though  may  be  not  so  many  as  some  ladies  here ; 
and  with  all  these  good  qualities  she  is  a  constant 
church- worn  an,  so  that  to  outward  appearance  one 
would  take  her  for  a  saint ;  and  to  hear  her  talk 
you  would  think  she  were  a  very  good  Protestant ; 
but  she  is  as  much  one  as  the  other,  for  it  is 
certain  that  her  lord  does  nothing  without  her." 

It  is  all  in  primary  colours,  very  spiteful,  a 
little  brutal.  But  one  likes  it  so,  because  if 
the  portrait  is  crude  it  is  for  that  reason  all  the 
more  expressive  of  the  painter.  The  touch  has 
no  polish.  It  is  the  touch  of  nature. 

One  phrase  in  the  letter  has  a  vitriolic  air  of 
truth  and  directness  which  suggests  the  influence 
of  the  autocrat  of  the  Cockpit. 

"  The  jade  fawns  and  fawns,  but  she  can't 
deceive  me."  One  can  imagine  Sarah  Churchill 
withering  with  such  a  retort  some  meandering 
effort  of  Anne's  at  criticism  of  Lady  Sunder- 
land. 

"  Then  she  has  had  her  gallants  ! "  Upon 
what  strange  targets  do  random  shots  light  at 
times  !  For  while  Anne  writes  to  her  sister  in 
Holland,  Lady  Sunderland  too  has  her  corres- 
pondent at  the  Court  of  Orange  in  the  person  of 
one  who  ever  brought  to  the  Princess's  House 
confusion.  This  was  Henry  Sidney,  British 
Minister  at  The  Hague,  whom  years  before 
scandal  had  coupled  with  the  name  of  Anne's 

147 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

mother.      Now  was  the  circle   of  Sidney's  life 
cutting  across  that  of  the  daughter's. 

Henry  Sidney,  a  gay,  unprincipled  rake,  was 
Lord  Sunderland's  uncle.  Sidney  and  James 
had  in  their  youth  been  companions,  and  when 
the  Prince  married  his  friend  was  given  a  post  in 
his  Household.  His  presumption  lost  him  his 
office  and  he  was  dismissed  from  Court,  but  his 
dismissal  did  not  imply  guilt  on  the  part  of 
James's  wife.  Rather  was  it  a  tribute  to  Sidney's 
insolence.  That  he  was  forgiven  later  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  he  cut  a  distinguished  figure  at 
James's  coronation.  An  untoward  incident  very 
nearly  marred  the  ceremony.  The  Crown  was 
toppling  from  James's  brow  when  Sidney  averted 
the  accident.  "  It  is  not  the  first  time,"  he 
whispered  to  the  King,  "that  my  family  have 
saved  the  Crown." 

Better  far  that  Sidney  had  remained  in  dis- 
grace, and  that  the  Crown  had  rolled  round  the 
Abbey  sanctuary.  But  with  James  it  was  ever 
thus.  He  forgave  where  justice,  not  mercy, 
would  have  been  wisdom.  He  was  implacable, 
or  permitted  others  to  be  implacable,  where 
severity  was  fatal  to  the  Throne. 

Sunderland  obtained  for  his  uncle  the  post  of 
Minister  at  The  Hague.  Perhaps  he  had  his  own 
reasons  for  sending  him  abroad.  According  to 
Barillon,  the  French  Ambassador  in  London, 

148 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Lady  Sunderland  carried  on  with  Sidney  a 
commerce  de  galanterie.  From  her  point  of 
vantage  in  London  she  kept  her  friend  apprised 
of  all  that  passed  at  Whitehall,  while  she  learned 
through  him  how  events  marched  at  the  Court 
of  Orange,  and,  better  still,  had  an  ally  there  who 
in  the  days  to  come  would  be  a  pilot  to  safety 
should  the  storm  burst. 

Charm  of  personality  won  for  Sidney  his 
success  in  politics.  Manners  made  him,  manners 
preserved  him,  they  condoned  his  sins,  they  con- 
founded his  enemies,  they  obtained  him  promo- 
tion, and  supported  him  on  the  uncertain  pedestal 
of  his  dignities.  They  enabled  him  to  maintain 
a  foremost  place  in  an  intrigue  where  his  con- 
federates were  remarkable,  above  all,  for  their 
astuteness  and  duplicity.  His  smile  was  wisdom, 
his  diplomacy  was  embodied  in  a  caressing  tact- 
fulness  which  to  men  made  him  charming,  to 
women  irresistible.  "  Le  beau  Sidney "  was  a 
synonym  for  breeding  and  an  epitome  of  the 
profligacy  of  the  day,  a  warning  to  husbands, 
a  challenge  to  lovers,  a  toast  for  the  jovial,  a  sign 
for  the  World,  the  Flesh,  and  the  Devil. 

Such  was  the  man  with  whom  "  the  lying  jade  " 
of  Anne's  letter  was  in  correspondence,  tunnelling 
a  mine  for  the  ruin  of  the  King.  And  working 
parallel  with  their  schemes  was  Anne  herself, 
Anne,  the  rogue  of  rogues,  in  a  palace  of  roguery. 

149 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

See  her  still  labouring  at  her  pen  while  White- 
hall sleeps.  Now  the  theme  is  the  Earl  of 
Sunderland.  She  writes : 

"  I  am  denied  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you, 
my  dearest  sister,  this  spring,  though  the  King 
gave  me  leave  when  I  first  asked  it.  I  impute 
this  to  Lord  Sunderland,  for  the  King  trusts 
him  with  everything,  and  he,  going  on  so  fiercely 
in  the  interests  of  the  Papists,  is  afraid  you 
should  be  told  a  true  character  of  him.  You 
may  remember  I  have  once  before  ventured  to 
tell  you  that  I  thought  Lord  Sunderland  a  very 
ill  man,  and  I  am  more  confirmed  every  day  in 
that  opinion.  Everybody  knows  how  often  this 
man  turned  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  late 
King's  time  ;  and  now,  to  complete  all  his  virtues, 
he  is  working  with  all  his  might  to  bring  in 
Popery.  He  is  perpetually  with  the  priests,  and 
stirs  up  the  King  to  do  things  faster  than  I 
believe  he  would  of  himself.  This  worthy  Lord 
does  not  go  publicly  to  mass,  but  hears  it 
privately  in  a  priest's  chamber." 

The  cream  of  Anne's  droll  wrath  has  to  come. 
The  Earl's  future  tempted  her  to  don  the  mantle 
of  the  prophetess : 

"  One  thing  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  this 
noble  lord,  which  is,  that  it  is  thought  if  every- 
thing does  not  go  here  as  he  would  have  it,  that 
he  will  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  Court,  and  so 
retire,  and  by  that  means  it  is  possible  he  may 
make  his  court  to  you." 

And  so  did  it  all  come  to  pass.  But  when  the 
storm  burst,  and  Lord  Sunderland  rode  gaily 

150 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

through  it,  nobody  perhaps  was  more  astonished 
than  the  Royal  prophetess. 

Before  we  leave  the  Cockpit,  before  the 
magician  withdraws  his  spell,  and  the  enchant- 
ment fades  into  prosaic  noonday,  Anne  must 
take  up  her  pen  once  more  and  write  to  her 
sister,  this  time  of  a  great  lady,  accomplished, 
virtuous,  loyal,  now  nearing  her  martyrdom — the 
Queen.  A  little  distance  away,  beyond  the 
courts  and  quadrangles,  was  Mary  of  Modena 
herself,  wondering  mayhap  if  the  young  mistress 
of  the  Cockpit  really  loved  her,  wondering  if,  in 
the  storm  that  was  gathering  and  would  soon 
burst  around  these  palace  walls,  the  hand  of 
Anne  would  take  hers,  repaying  with  priceless 
sympathy  the  love  which  the  girl-bride  from 
Italy  long  ago  lavished  on  the  motherless  maid. 
Fond  delusion  of  a  good  woman's  heart !  How 
vain  that  hope  let  Anne's  pen  tell : 

"  The  Queen,  you  must  know,  is  of  a  very 
proud  and  haughty  humour,  and  though  she 
pretends  to  hate  all  form  and  ceremony,  one 
sees  that  those  who  make  their  court  that  way 
are  very  well  thought  of.  She  declares  always 
that  she  loves  sincerity  and  hates  flattery ;  but 
when  the  grossest  flattery  in  the  world  is  said  to 
her  she  seems  extremely  well  pleased  with  it. 
It  really  is  enough  to  turn  one's  stomach  to  hear 
what  things  are  said  to  her  of  that  kind,  and  to 
see  how  mightily  she  is  satisfied  with  it." 

151 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  weary  lady  throws  down  her  pen  and 
yawns  at  her  huge  watch  with  something  of 
reproof  that  Time  should  be  such  a  beggar  in 
chivalry  as  to  side  against  a  lovely  princess  with- 
out a  party.  For  party  had  she  none.  There 
was,  to  be  sure,  good  George,  very  large  and 
very  loyal  to  her.  George  could  listen,  could 
obey,  he  could  agree,  but  never  by  any  chance 
could  he  be  the  author  of  a  revolution,  never 
electrify  them  all  with  a  word  of  command,  or 
dispel  her  doubts  with  a  whisper  of  sage  counsel. 
With  dog-like  fidelity  he  was  ever  at  her  side, 
or  within  call.  But  her  heart  cried  out,  not  for 
a  devoted  mastiff,  but  a  prince  to  point  the  way, 
and  lead  her  from  the  morass  wherein  she  was 
floundering  to  firm  ground. 

Away  in  his  apartments  is  George,  good, 
solemn,  stupid  George,  happy  with  his  bottle — 
his  bright,  sparkling  king.  His  blonde  face 
glows  with  the  cheer  bestowed  by  this  ambrosia 
of  the  gods.  What  knows  he  of  the  tortures  of 
the  lady  vexing  her  soul  about  a  thousand  things, 
though  her  bills  were  paid  by  her  good  father  ? 
He  supposed  he  was  a  good  father  as  he  still  sat 
on  the  throne.  Confound  politics  !  The  liquor 
was  excellent,  and  Orange  be  damned  1  Excellent 
English  sentiment  that,  made  to  trip  off  a 
foreigner's  tongue.  God  bless  the  King,  though 
he  was  a  Catholic  and  the  wine  was  ....  But 

152 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

no,  of  course  not ;  wine  was  wine,  without  faith 
or  morals,  and  stole  warm  and  mellow  to  the 
heart  of  every  man  born  of  woman,  whether  he 
thanked  God  for  it  like  a  plain  Lutheran,  or, 
like  a  pious  Catholic,  offered  his  bouquet  of 
gratitude  to  the  sweet  Lady  Help  of  Christians 
that  she  might  take  it  to  the  Throne. 

The  sadness  of  the  hour  creeps  on  the  Princess. 
She  leans  forward  until  her  snowy  brow  rests  on 
her  white  hands.  The  lace  ruffles  fall  backwards 
from  her  wrists,  revealing  alabaster  arms  from 
which  Praxiteles  might  have  carved  his  master- 
pieces. The  light,  burning  low,  falls  on  the 
bowed  and  shapely  head,  and  under  its  fitful 
beams  the  rich  brown  tresses  glisten  like  bur- 
nished copper  quaintly  chased. 

Does  the  cross  press  upon  her  stooping 
shoulders  ?  One  would  fain  have  it  so,  and 
imagine  that  in  moments  like  these  was  the 
malice  of  lighter  hours  expiated.  Conceiving 
her  in  this  attitude  of  sorrow,  one  relents  to- 
wards her,  and  notwithstanding  all  the  selfish 
malevolence  of  her  letters,  one's  sympathies  go 
a-hunting  to  find  for  her  misdeeds  some  palliation, 
for  her  ingratitude  some  apology. 

And  now  the  witching  hour  hastes  to  its  final 
instant.  The  dust  that  lies  upon  the  buried 
cities  of  Chaldea  calls  to  the  wandering  spectre. 
The  empire  of  the  magician  is  demolished.  The 

153 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

spell  that  cast  the  glamour  of  another  age  upon 
London  is  dissolved.  The  Palace  of  Whitehall, 
with  all  its  courts  and  lanes,  its  alleys  and 
gardens,  its  solitary  lights,  its  thousand  case- 
ments, quivers  like  a  castle  in  the  air.  Quivering, 
it  melts  away,  and  the  stars  cease  to  twinkle  on 
a  mirage  of  necromancy. 


154. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  January  1687  a  few  lines  appeared  in  the 
London  Gazette  that  filled  with  grief  and 
dismay  two  noblemen,  who  saw  the  whole 
scheme  of  their  lives  thrown  into  confusion  by 
a  Royal  whim.  In  clubs  and  coffee-houses  men 
read  with  amazement.  Here  indeed  was  news : 
The  Hydes  had  fallen.  The  Princess  Anne's 
uncles  were  in  disgrace.  All  over  the  town 
nothing  else  was  talked  of  by  the  gossips  ;  while, 
elated  that  the  King  should  thus  alienate  his 
own  kindred,  the  partisans  of  Orange  dispatched 
the  welcome  tidings  far  and  near. 

Where  the  Hydes  had  fallen  who  could  hope 
to  stand  ?  This  question,  artfully  whispered  to 
the  anxious,  settled  their  course  of  action.  The 
open-hearted  and  simple-minded  asked  no  further 
proof  of  the  King's  intolerance.  Plain  English- 
men could  forgive  the  King  for  being  a  Catholic. 
Whether  he  went  to  Mass  or  stayed  away 
hardly  mattered  to  them.  It  was  their  way  to 
allow  their  princes  luxuries  within  reason.  A 
King  should  be  in  mischief  of  some  kind  ;  but 

155 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

so  long  as  honest  men  minded  their  business 
and  markets  were  good  the  country  could  not 
go  to  perdition  because  a  Catholic  gentleman, 
English  to  the  backbone  and  ready  to  shed  the 
last  drop  of  his  blood  for  his  motherland,  was 
given  a  command  in  the  militia  or  a  ship  in  the 
navy.  But  for  the  King  to  cast  aside  old  men, 
and  they  his  brothers-in-law,  who  had  served 
him  loyally  all  their  lives,  in  sunshine  and  storm, 
ran  counter  to  their  spirit  of  fair-play.  It  was 
mean.  They  would  not  treat  their  servants  so. 

How  Robert,  Earl  of  Sunderland,  must  have 
relished  these  comments  of  plain  men !  What 
fools  must  they  all  have  appeared — King,  cour- 
tiers, and  citizens — to  his  lordship  !  With  their 
blunt  intellects,  their  point-blank  outlook  they 
were  children  in  his  hands. 

The  downfall  of  the  two  Hydes,  Lord 
Rochester  and  Lord  Clarendon,  marked  the 
climax  to  his  intrigues  for  obtaining  absolute 
supremacy  in  the  King's  council,  and  what, 
they  say,  was  still  dearer  to  his  heart,  control 
of  the  national  purse. 

Anne  was  a  witness  of  this  curious  drama,  in 
which  Sunderland's  wits  bore  down  all  obstacles. 
Its  ultimate  drift  was  inexplicable  to  her,  for 
how  indeed  could  she  be  expected  to  fathom 
designs  which  the  Earl  himself  could  hardly 
plumb?  No  foresight,  however,  was  needed  to 

156 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

enlighten  her  as  to  the  duty  of  an  affectionate 
niece  when  she  saw  her  uncles  tottering  from 
the  places  they  had  filled  so  long.  But  Anne 
watched  impassively  the  duel  between  Sunder- 
land,  whom  she  detested,  and  Rochester,  bound 
to  her  by  ties  of  blood  and  the  remembrance  of 
a  thousand  gentle  associations  of  her  childhood. 
And  when  the  overthrow  of  Lord  Rochester 
was  assured,  she  sealed  her  lips  upon  the  fond 
word  which,  whispered  to  the  King,  might  have 
softened  or  delayed,  if  it  could  not  altogether 
avert,  his  misfortune.  With  Rochester  driven 
from  power  Clarendon  could  not  hope  to  main- 
tain his  place  alone  against  enemies  so  formid- 
able, and  he  too  was  lost  to  the  administration. 

Sunderland  had  early  in  the  reign  awakened 
to  the  temporal  if  not  to  the  spiritual  advan- 
tages of  the  religion  of  his  master.  A  Protes- 
tant minister,  however  astute,  could  never 
hope  under  this  regime  to  be  as  powerful  as  a 
Roman  Catholic.  Sunderland,  however,  did  not 
act  impetuously.  He  was  far  too  clever  a 
diplomatist  for  that. 

He  dropped  hints  opportunely  which  fostered 
the  King's  hopes  of  seeing  his  Secretary  become 
a  convert.  But  this  Sunderland  was  in  season 
a  fellow  fully  conscious  of  the  value  of  his 
immortal  soul.  He  therefore  would  not  hurry 
where  his  eternal  salvation  was  at  stake.  So 

157 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

good  a  son  must  not  lightly  forsake  the  shrine 
of  his  fathers.;  Evidence  had  to  be  examined, 
dogmas  proved,  history  sifted  ! 

These  things  all  took  time,  but  meanwhile 
there  was  an  article  of  faith  which  needed  little 
demonstration  to  Robert's  mind.  It  was  that 
gold  is  equally  precious  under  all  political  and 
theological  dispensations.  To  extricate  himself 
from  his  embarrassments,  therefore,  he  agreed  to 
sell  the  secrets  of  the  Cabinet  to  Louis  XIV. 
for  a  pension  of  £4,000  a  year.  His  patrimony 
was  inadequate  to  meet  his  losses  at  the  gaming- 
tables, but  this  French  subsidy  helped  the 
gambler  to  gratify  his  passion  while  preserving 
him  from  those  financial  anxieties  so  fatal  to  the 
calm  examination  of  theological  problems.  Such 
divergent  mental  activities  might  seem  in 
ordinary  cases  somewhat  incompatible,  but  to 
Robert's  elastic  conscience  and  penetrating  mind 
the  excitement  of  cards  paid  for  with  the  price 
of  treason,  and  the  study  of  the  catechism  of  the 
Council  of  Trent,  were  grateful  alternatives. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  circumstance  for 
Rochester  that  the  Lord  Treasurership  was  the 
post  in  the  Government  which  above  all  others 
appealed  to  Sunderland's  ambition.  Early  in 
James's  reign  it  must  have  dawned  on  Rochester 
that  his  office  was  little  likely  to  be  a  sinecure. 
Symptoms  of  unrest  were  everywhere.  New 

158 


From  a  photo  by  Kinery  Walker,  after  the  picture  liy  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  in  the 
National  Portrait  Gallery. 

LAWRENCE   HYDE,  EARL   OK   ROCHESTER,   K.G. 


p.  158. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

favourites  emerged  from  the  most  unexpected 
quarters,  while  old  ones  had  to  adapt  themselves 
to  wholly  new  circumstances  or  suffer  eclipse. 
Rochester  was  one  of  the  first  to  feel  the  change, 
and  in  a  desperate  effort  to  retain  his  ascendency 
he  fell  into  a  disastrous  mistake. 

We  have  already  seen  Catharine  Sedley, 
empress  of  the  unfortunate  monarch's  heart, 
alienating  from  him  the  sympathy  of  chivalrous 
men  by  holding  up  to  public  contempt  the 
contrast  between  his  religious  professions  and 
the  slavery  of  a  vicious  attachment.  Rochester 
endeavoured  to  please  his  Sovereign  by  patron- 
ising Catharine.  To  a  man  who  had  learned  his 
manners  at  the  Court  of  Charles  II.  there  was 
nothing  repellent  in  such  a  friendship.  But  now 
everything  was  different.  The  King  was  a  sinner 
who  would  be  a  saint,  and  the  Queen,  deeply 
religious  and  tenderly  attached  to  her  husband, 
was  wounded  to  the  quick  by  the  baseness  which 
would  coolly  pilfer  from  her  her  lord's  affections 
for  the  sake  of  a  passing  political  advantage. 

Lady  Rochester's  part  as  ally  of  her  husband 
was,  it  is  averred,  one  of  singular  infamy.  She, 
it  is  said,  appeared  on  the  scene  to  direct  the 
jealousy  of  the  Queen  against  a  young  and  inno- 
cent girl.  But  happily  the  true  state  of  affairs 
was  revealed  in  time,  and  Mary  of  Modena  knew 
Rochester  for  what  he  really  was — a  crafty  man 

159 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

with  high  intelligence  of  a  certain  order,  but 
with  a  nature  devoid  of  one  true  spark  of 
spirituality.  He  had  many  of  the  common-place 
virtues  and  some  of  the  common-place  vices. 
But  these  were  not  adequate  to  sustain  him  in 
the  crisis  with  which  he  was  soon  to  be  con- 
fronted, a  crisis  which  Rochester  imagined  would 
never  arise,  fervently  counting,  no  doubt,  on  being 
preserved  from  it  by  his  kinship  to  the  King, 
and,  above  all,  through  the  influence  of  his  fair 
relative  at  the  Cockpit. 

Anne  would  one  day  be  Queen.  Her  religion 
was  that  of  her  uncles.  Other  families  might 
find  a  change  of  creed  advantageous ;  but  the 
Hydes  were  in  a  sense  a  distinct  branch  of  the 
Royal  Family,  with  Anne  at  its  head.  Protestant 
it  would  remain. 

This  sentiment  was  no  doubt  suspected  by 
Sunderland.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  had  more 
substantial  grounds  than  suspicion  for  giving 
Rochester  credit  for  a  certain  stubborn  devotion 
to  the  faith  in  which  he  was  reared.  The  Lord 
Treasurer  paid  assiduous  court  to  the  bottle. 
He  once  became  so  drunk  at  an  aldermanic 
banquet  that  he  stripped  himself  almost  stark 
naked  and  wanted  to  climb  up  a  sign-post  to 
drink  the  King's  health.  In  such  moments  of 
exhilaration  Rochester's  prudence  would  natu- 
rally desert  him,  and  his  heart  would  be  worn  on 

160 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

his  sleeve  for  examination  by  the  curious.  A 
thoroughly  Protestant  heart  they  found  it  to  be. 

Sunderland  artfully  suggested  to  James  that 
Rochester  was  in  some  doubt  as  to  points  in 
dispute  between  Catholics  and  Protestants. 
James  heard  with  the  gullibility  which  made 
him  so  easy  a  dupe  to  the  crudest  deceit,  that 
this  pious  wine-bibber  was  in  spiritual  distress. 
One  can  hear  Charles  II.'s  hearty  laughter 
ringing  through  Whitehall  at  being  told  such  a 
story.  But  James  had  lost  any  sense  of  humour 
he  had  ever  possessed.  Few  rakes  turned  saint 
can  carry  the  aureole  with  such  grace  as  to 
preserve  their  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  un- 
blunted,  and  James,  unfortunately  for  himself, 
was  not  one  of  the  rare  exceptions. 

Angels  must  have  wept  with  mirth  when  the 
King,  taking  Rochester  into  his  closet,  confided 
to  him  that  he  shared  his  dark,  perplexing  secret. 
Rochester's  eyes  opened  wide.  His  face,  habitu- 
ally tinted  to  a  generous  glow  by  long  devotion 
to  the  decanter,  looked  as  if  it  would  burst. 
Had  one  of  them  lost  their  wits  ?  If  so,  which  ? 
Ah !  that  treacherous  extra  bottle  of  the  previous 
night.  Or  was  it  bottles  ?  Faithless  wine ! 
Poor  Rochester  !  One  can  see  him  pressing  his 
hands  to  his  head  to  collect  his  wits,  at  which 
the  King  pities  him,  crediting  him  with  sublime 
perturbation  of  soul. 

VOL.    I  161  M 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

"  Dear  Rochester,  Rome  is  the  Rock.  On  it 
stands  the  lighthouse  which  has  braved  the 
storms  of  nigh  two  thousand  years.  .  .  .  !  " 

"  A  lighthouse ! "  It  was  indeed  the  very 
thing  the  Treasurer  wanted.  With  farcical 
amiability  he  fell  in  with  James's  temper.  He 
confessed  his  spirit  was  riven  between  the  charms 
of  Rome  and  Canterbury.  But  through  un- 
suspected windows  of  his  soul  strange  illuminants 
were  shining.  The  King  was  enraptured.  He 
ordered  a  disputation  to  set  his  brother-in-law's 
doubts  at  rest.  Rochester  had  not  the  art  of 
travelling  as  slowly  as  Sunderland.  He  was  not 
a  diplomatist.  Soon  all  the  cards  were  on  the 
table,  and  James  saw  that  the  Lord  Treasurer, 
greedy  of  power,  greedy  of  self-indulgence,  the 
most  unlikely  looking  martyr  in  all  England, 
would  probably  go  to  the  scaffold  before  deserting 
his  faith. 

James  was  deeply  chagrined.  Rochester,  as  a 
searcher  after  truth,  was  a  miserable  failure,  and 
the  King  who  could  believe  in  him  a  laughing- 
stock. Rochester  should  go.  James  shed  tears 
at  parting  from  his  old  friend.  But  the  Minister 
had  become  suddenly  possessed  with  a  dogged 
spirit  of  independence,  while  the  King  on  his 
side  was  obdurate.  And  then  it  was  that  the 
Gazette  announced  that  the  Treasurership  had 
been  put  into  commission.  Rochester  was  de- 

162 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

posed,  and  Clarendon  was  deprived  of  the  Lord- 
Lieutenancy  of  Ireland. 

Now  were  the  prizes  coveted  by  the  Secret 
Committee  within  their  grasp.  The  door  to  the 
Lord  Treasurership  was  open  to  Sunderland. 
The  Lord-Lieutenancy  was  vacant  for  Tyrconnel, 
and  the  handsome  head  of  Frances  Jennings  was 
already  giddy  with  visions  of  the  semi-regal 
pomp  of  Dublin  Castle.  An  envoy  had  gone  to 
Rome  who  would  crave  a  cardinal's  hat  for 
Petre,  and  there  remained  only  Jermyn  for  whom 
the  King  should  find  an  avenue  to  reward. 

The  symmetry  of  the  scheme  so  elaborately 
mapped  out  by  the  Secret  Committee  was  spoiled 
by  the  King.  Sunderland  was  ready  to  act  as 
warder  of  the  coffers  of  the  realm.  Who  so 
worthy  as  Sunderland  ?  Who  could  make  gold 
go  so  far  or  so  quickly  ?  This  embryo  Treasurer 
had  innumerable  qualifications  for  the  highest 
trust  in  the  kingdom.  But  likewise  he  had  one 
disqualification  that  to  the  economical  mind  of 
James  was  insurmountable.  He  was  a  spend- 
thrift. To  have  grossly  mismanaged  his  own 
affairs  was  no  recommendation  to  the  Sovereign 
in  a  guardian  of  the  national  purse  ;  and  so, 
when  the  prize  was  at  his  very  hand,  when  all  his 
complex  schemes  had  beautifully  matured  and 
reached  the  destined  conclusion  of  a  mathe- 
matical problem,  when  he  had  seemingly  achieved 

163 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  brilliant  victory,  Sunderland  had  in  reality  lost 
everything,  and  he  was  left  to  eat  his  heart  out 
with  disappointment — another  Tantalus. 

Jermyn  was  provided  for  with  a  seat  on  the 
new  Treasury  Commission.  The  renowned  dandy 
was  thus  obliged  to  forgo,  with  the  best  grace 
he  could,  his  ambition  of  becoming  Captain  of 
the  Lifeguards  for  a  post  in  which  the  wits  hoped 
he  would  keep  the  King's  money  with  better 
success  than  he  had  done  his  own — an  allusion 
to  the  inheritance  he  had  dissipated  in  gambling. 

The  cardinal's  hat  for  which  James  had  sent 
his  Ambassador  to  Rome  was  destined  never  to 
arrive  for  Petre.  The  Pope  considered  James's 
policy  wanting  in  good  sense,  and  was  not  dis- 
posed to  extend  special  marks  of  favour  to  a 
priest  whose  prudence  was  sadly  inadequate  to  the 
delicate  responsibilities  into  which  he  had  drifted. 
The  only  member  of  the  Secret  Committee,  in- 
deed, who  realised  his  ambition  was  Tyrconnel. 

When  Clarendon  fell  Tyrconnel's  hour  had 
come.  Sunderland,  thwarted  in  his  own  designs, 
behaved  towards  his  confederate  with  character- 
istic disloyalty.  He  recoiled  from  the  fulfilment 
of  his  compact.  The  Lord-Lieutenancy  for 
Tyrconnel !  Preposterous  !  It  was  a  post  for  a 
nobleman  with  a  distinguished  record,  or  at 
least  for  the  head  of  some  house  whose  pedigree 
conferred  indisputable  priority.  Sunderland  ex- 

164 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

amined  Talbot's  claims  by  this  nice  standard, 
and  found  that  they  failed  in  a  lamentable 
degree  to  satisfy  his  new-born  scruples.  The 
great  Roman  Catholic  nobles  of  England  had 
their  man  for  the  post  in  the  person  of  Powis,  a 
lord  of  ancient  lineage  and  courtly  manners. 
What  right  had  Dick  Talbot  to  contest  such 
respectable  and  conventional  pretensions  ?  But 
Talbot  did.  He  cared  as  little  for  respectability 
personified  by  a  Powis  as  he  did  for  convention 
personified  by  such  a  sham  as  Sunderland.  The 
Earl  of  Tyrconnel  approached  the  Earl  of 
Sunderland  with  wide-open  purse.  It  was  a 
meeting  of  gods — of  a  kind.  One  can  picture  the 
pair,  fire  in  the  eyes  of  one,  the  other  growing 
more  suave  the  more  closely  he  was  pressed. 

"  Fifty  thousand  pounds,  my  Lord  President," 
said  Tyrconnel.  ' "  Fifty  thousand  pounds  the  day 
I  am  gazetted  his  Majesty's  viceroy  in  Ireland  !  " 

"  There  are  difficulties,  my  lord,"  urged  Sun- 
derland, almost  pleadingly. 

"  What  are  they  ? "  retorted  Tyrconnel. 

Sunderland  hesitated,  as  well  he  might.  He 
must  have  seen  that  the  country  was  drifting  fast 
towards  revolution,  and  Talbot  was  the  least 
desirable  of  associates  at  such  a  time  for  one  who 
hoped  to  be  on  the  winning  side,  whatever  might 
happen,  at  whatever  cost  of  pride  and  name.  But 
the  motives  inspired  by  such  a  thought,  though 

165 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

conclusive  to  his  own  mind,  against  Tyrconnel's 
claims  were  the  very  last  he  dare  mention  to  this 
blustering  and  indomitable  fellow,  whom  he  had 
no  desire  to  meet  as  an  avowed  and  deadly  foe. 

Still  Talbot  would  not  be  denied.  He  had 
fought  and  lost — fought  and  lost  too  often  to 
miss  the  fruits  of  victory  when  the  battle  was 
his  own.  He  had  one  quality  which  Sunderland 
with  all  his  marvellous  brilliancy  lacked.  He 
had  the  strength  to  push  home  a  success. 

Goodness  knows  what  the  Queen  thought  of 
Talbot,  but  Her  Majesty  had  some  reason  to 
admire  Lady  Tyrconnel,  for  in  days  gone  by  she 
had  resisted  temptation  personified  in  James. 
The  influence  of  Mary  Beatrice  was  now  invoked 
on  behalf  of  the  husband  of  the  virtuous  Frances. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  magnificent  chain  and 
pearls,  which  had  been  presented  by  Prince 
Rupert  many  years  before  to  Margaret  Hughes, 
having  been  purchased  by  Talbot  for  the  Queen. 
They  were  valued  at  ten  thousand  pounds. 
Probably  not  a  word  of  truth  was  contained  in 
the  story.  Not  but  that  Mary  might  have 
accepted  from  Talbot  a  gift  which,  in  splendour 
at  least,  was  worthy  of  a  queen. 

He  was  her  husband's  lifelong  friend,  a  fearless 
supporter  of  his  policy,  the  man  who  was  to 
make  Ireland  a  stronghold  of  loyalty.  His 
wealth,  too,  was  enormous,  and  his  rank  con- 

166 


From  an  engraving,  after  the  picture  in  the  cullevtiun  of  Loril  Ueaulieu. 
DICK   TALBOT,   DUKE   OF   TYRCONXEL. 


p.  166. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

siderable.  Moreover,  Mary  could  accept  with 
honour  a  gift  which  a  poorer  princess  should 
reject  or  receive  only  by  appearing  to  sacrifice 
her  pride  to  the  gratification  of  possession. 
For  James  was  so  rich  that  he  could  afford  to  in- 
dulge his  Queen  with  all  the  jewels  her  heart 
could  desire. 

It  was  not  pearls,  therefore,  that  secured  to 
Tyrconnel  his  viceregal  throne.  The  King 
believed  in  him  as  he  believed  in  no  other  man 
amongst  his  courtiers  and  friends.  He  felt  that 
he  was  irresistible  in  his  own  land,  and,  desirous 
of  strengthening  the  Crown  in  Ireland  the  more 
it  was  assailed  in  England,  he  resolved  to  make 
Tyrconnel  his  representative  in  Dublin.  And 
he  did.  The  Royal  command  settled  the  wrangle. 
It  allayed  Sunderland's  scruples.  It  silenced  the 
pretensions  of  Powis.  Sunderland,  Jermyn,  and 
Petre  had  to  submit  to  disappointment  in  their 
respective  ambitions.  Against  one  the  Treasury 
was  barred.  The  captaincy  for  which  another 
craved  eluded  him.  And  the  red  hat  that  was 
to  make  the  Churchman  happy  never  left  the 
Papal  palace.  But  Tyrconnel,  more  fortunate  in 
his  aspirations,  to  the  consternation  of  the  Prince 
of  Orange  and  his  partisans,  was  sent  to  rule 
over  Ireland,  though  with  a  title  rather  less 
high-sounding  than  Lord-Lieutenant.  He  was 
Earl  of  Tyrconnel,  the  King's  Lord  Deputy. 

167 


CHAPTER  XII 

ChurchiUs  going  over  to  Rome  !  " 
-*-  The  day  William  of  Orange  heard  that 
rumour  the  Court  at  The  Hague,  never  a  cheerful 
place,  must  have  become  more  than  ever  a  slough 
of  despond.  The  Prince  could  always  take  an 
additional  dram  of  the  fiery  liquor  of  his  native 
land  to  sustain  his  fortitude.  But  the  unfortunate 
Princess  had  no  such  consolation.  She  could 
only  fly  to  hide  herself  in  her  own  apartments 
from  the  thunder  she  dreaded  to  see  upon  her 
husband's  brow. 

So  great  was  the  commotion  caused  at  The 
Hague  by  this  report  that  the  Princess  Mary 
at  once  wrote  to  the  Cockpit  on  the  subject. 
Unhappily  the  letter  is  lost.  But  one  may  infer 
the  contents  from  Anne's  spirited  defence  of  her 
favourite.  She  wrote  to  Mary  in  March  1688  : 

"  Sorry  people  have  taken  such  pains  to  give 
so  ill  a  character  of  [Lady]  Churchill.  I  believe 
there  is  nobody  in,  the  world  has  better  notions 
of  religion  than  she  has.  It  is  true  that  she  is 
not  so  strict  as  some  are,  nor  does  she  keep  such 

168 


a  bustle  with  religion,  which  I  confess  I  think  is 
never  the  worse,  for  one  sees  so  many  saints  mere 
devils,  that  if  one  be  a  good  Christian,  the  less 
show  one  makes  the  better,  in  my  opinion.  Then, 
as  for  moral  principles,  'tis  impossible  to  have 
better,  and  without,  all  that  lifting  up  of  the 
hands  and  eyes,  and  often  going  to  church,  will 
prove  but  a  very  lame  devotion.  One  thing 
more  I  must  say  for  her,  which  is,  that  she  has 
a  true  sense  of  the  doctrine  of  our  Church,  and 
abhors  all  the  principles  of  the  Church  of  Rome  ; 
so,  as  to  this  particular,  I  assure  you  she  will 
never  change.  The  same  thing  I  will  venture, 
now  I  am  on  the  subject,  for  her  lord  ;  for  though 
he  is  a  very  faithful  servant  to  King  James,  and 
the  King  is  very  kind  to  him,  and  I  believe  he 
will  always  obey  the  King  in  all  things  that  are 
consistent  with  religion,  yet  rather  than  change 
that,  I  dare  say  he  will  lose  all  places,  and 
everything  that  he  has." 

The  basis  for  the  story  that  Sarah  contemplated 
changing  her  religion  is  not  very  apparent ;  but  it 
is  easy  to  imagine  that  during  the  spring  of  1688 
questions  of  dogma  filled  an  extraordinary  place 
in  Court  life.  Of  old  it  was  a  masque  or  a  dance, 
a  flirtation  or  a  morsel  of  scandal  which  agitated 
Whitehall.  Now  points  of  doctrine  were  can- 
vassed with  more  eagerness  than  at  a  mediaeval 
university,  the  great  majority  of  the  casuists 
bringing  to  the  disputes  a  most  comprehensive 
ignorance  of  history.  Where  contentions  raged 
Sarah  Churchill  was  little  likely  to  suppress  her 

169 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

feelings,  if  they  could  be  given  free  rein  with  any 
reasonable  degree  of  safety.  But  with  the  fate 
of  Rochester  and  Clarendon  before  her  eyes, 
discretion  would  at  this  season  recommend  itself 
strongly  to  her.  James,  it  is  true,  can  hardly 
have  realised  how  absolutely  she  dominated  his 
daughter's  household.  Her  official  position  in 
the  Court  was  so  entirely  a  secondary  one  that  it 
protected  her  from  the  attentions  bestowed  upon 
the  faith  of  persons  of  more  consequence  in  the 
table  of  precedence.  But  even  had  the  King 
realised  the  power  exercised  at  the  Cockpit  by 
Sarah  he  would  hardly  have  taken  steps  to 
eliminate  from  the  tangle  of  his  affairs  a  factor 
which  he  would  naturally  assume  to  be  favour- 
able. James  counted  with  complete  confidence 
on  Anne's  loyalty.  Trusting  his  daughter  fully, 
he  trusted  her  household,  and  on  none  of  his 
servants  would  he  be  disposed  to  rely  more 
implicitly  than  on  the  Churchills. 

Sarah's  sister  was  in  Dublin  representing  the 
Queen  ;  her  sister-in-law,  Arabella  Churchill,  was 
the  mother  of  children  very  dear  to  the  King. 
His  Majesty  was  kind  to  Lord  Churchill.  Anne 
herself  had  said  so  in  her  reply  just  quoted  to  the 
Princess  of  Orange.  Putting  their  clever  heads 
together,  this  couple  may  well  have  asked  them- 
selves at  this  juncture  what  they  had  to  gain  by 
turning  renegade  to  a  Sovereign  who  watched 

170 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

over  their  advancement  as  though  they  were  his 
own  children. 

As  they  saw  the  time  draw  near  for  the 
inevitable  parting  of  the  ways,  it  was  with 
profound  anxiety  they  debated  their  policy.  As 
in  the  case  of  almost  all  those  around  them,  self- 
interest  was  their  main  guide.  That  the  rule 
of  James  ensured  them  brilliant  prospects  was 
plain  to  intelligences  so  acute.  But  their  course 
of  action  had  to  be  modified  by  the  growing 
unpopularity  of  the  King.  It  was  necessary  to 
please  His  Majesty,  for  he  was  the  lord  in  posses- 
sion, while  the  Prince  over  the  water  might  never, 
after  all,  succeed  in  ousting  him.  In  the  effort 
to  steer  both  ways  at  once  the  Churchills  seem 
to  have  exposed  themselves  in  some  way  to 
the  suspicion  that  they  were  prepared  to  follow  the 
example  of  the  courtiers  who  had  deserted  the 
Established  Church.  And  this  suspicion  was 
wafted  over  the  water  to  Holland,  arousing  the 
ire  of  William  and  the  uneasiness  of  his  wife. 

Nor  was  Anne's  course  more  clearly  defined 
for  her  than  the  Churchills  for  them  when  once 
she  closed  her  ears  to  the  clarion  notes  of  immut- 
able justice.  Like  the  Churchills,  she  had  to 
think  of  what  would  please  the  King,  and  what 
would  conciliate  her  brother-in-law.  The  King 
might  weather  the  storm.  True,  the  breakers 
were  thundering  on  the  shore  with  deafening 

171 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

wrath.  Wherever  he  turned  the  sky  met  him 
heavy  with  anger,  dark  as  pitch,  disaster  in  the 
furry  blackness  of  the  lowering  abyss.  But 
the  Princess  in  her  short  life  had  seen  enough 
to  know  that  nothing  is  harder  to  lose  than  a 
kingdom,  and  nothing  more  easily  held  than  the 
loyalty  of  Englishmen.  This  loyalty  had  given 
James  his  throne,  in  spite  of  an  agitation  that 
knew  no  scruples.  And  the  same  loyalty  would 
in  all  probability  support  him  through  every  trial 
and  difficulty,  even  against  himself,  just  as  it  had 
given  of  its  best  blood  in  rivers  and  stopped  only 
at  miracles  in  a  last  desperate  struggle  to  save 
his  father.  This  was  what  might  be  expected 
from  the  simple-hearted  loyalty  of  simple  English 
people  as  opposed  to  the  courtly  trimming  and 
secret  treason  of  the  Sunderlands  and  Sydneys. 
And  if  the  King  should  win  !  If  he  should  carry 
through  successfully  the  policy  in  which  opposi- 
tion only  made  him  more  stubborn  !  Anne  had 
to  contemplate  such  a  contingency  from  day  to 
day,  and  play  the  double  part  of  a  loyal  daughter 
and  a  zealous  conspirator. 

Here  was  a  mental  strain  from  which  over  a 
long  period  the  Princess  had  no  relief,  and  which 
was  exhausting  enough  to  wear  a  woman  of  finer 
nerves  into  her  grave.  Anne's  letters  only  give 
us  half  her  history  for  this  period — the  half  in 
which  she  courted  Orange.  Her  other  part,  that 

172 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  the  dutiful  child  of  the  King,  called  for  no 
letters.  Her  pen  had  to  dissimulate  but  an  hour 
now  and  an  hour  again,  and  then  she  was  alone 
to  collect  her  thoughts  and  throw  all  her  mind 
into  effecting  her  purpose.  But  the  larger  part 
of  her  life  was  lived  in  the  light  of  the  Court. 
She  was  continually  the  King's  companion  ;  and 
apart  from  all  other  eyes,  remote  from  every  ear, 
these  two  spoke  together,  long  and  earnestly. 

At  such  moments  what  subjects  would  rise  to 
the  lips  of  the  King  but  those  nearest  his  heart  ? 
To  his  idolised  Anne  he  would  breathe  his 
suspicions  of  Orange.  To  her  he  would  whisper 
words  that  to  no  other  would  ever  pass  his  lips — 
his  hopes  for  the  future,  his  anxieties  about  the 
succession.  With  voice  broken  with  emotion  he 
would  paint  the  joy  to  him  if  he  could  but  know 
that  some  day  when  his  work  was  done  .  .  .  over 
Catholic  England  would  reign  the  good  Queen 
Anne  .  .  .  Anne  .  .  .  the  Catholic.  .  .  .  And  the 
noonday  sun  would  remind  the  Queen  at  White- 
hall, the  magistrates  in  the  courts,  the  citizens  in 
their  shops,  the  labourers  in  the  fields,  of  the 
Angelus,  and  as  in  mediaeval  days  the  whole  nation 
would  pause  a  moment  in  the  round  of  common- 
place toil,  and,  turning  in  spirit  to  the  Holy  City, 
recite  the  sacred  drama  of  the  Annunciation. 

To  hear  the  King  in  his  moments  of  exaltation 
reveal  his  most  cherished  dreams  was  an  ordeal 

173 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

very  different  from  that  involved  in  composing 
letters  to  her  sister  which  would  flatter  her 
husband's  ambitions.  Perhaps  she  too,  like  the 
Churchills,  in  trying  to  steer  both  ways  at  once 
gave  some  colour  to  the  suspicion  that  she  could 
at  least  tolerate  a  Catholic  favourite  in  the  person 
of  her  devoted  Sarah. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  rumour  had  no 
foundation,  or  that  the  swift  challenge  which 
Mary  of  Orange  hurled  across  the  North  Sea  the 
moment  it  reached  The  Hague,  allayed  Sarah's 
misgivings  on  the  subject  of  religion ;  certain  it 
is  that  no  more  is  heard  of  the  matter. 

Some  day,  when  the  treasures  of  the  Vatican 
archives  relating  to  this  period  have  been 
thoroughly  explored,  a  connection  may  be  found 
between  these  mysterious  rumours  concerning 
the  Churchills  and  one  of  the  most  inexplicable 
episodes  in  the  history  of  Anne.  It  is  an  episode 
which  belongs  to  the  period  immediately  follow- 
ing her  accession ;  but  if  the  mystery  is  ever 
unravelled  its  explanation  may  perhaps  be  traced 
to  the  secret  history  of  those  months  which 
preceded  the  Revolution  when  everything  was 
possible,  and  Anne,  from  motives  of  ambition  or 
prudence,  may  have  taken  half  a  step  towards 
Catholicism,  which  was  at  the  time  carefully 
concealed,  and  all  trace  of  which  was  afterwards 
diligently  obliterated. 

174 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  kernel  of  the  mystery  is  preserved  in  the 
State  Paper  Office  in  the  form  of  an  affectionate 
letter  to  the  Queen  from  the  Pope.  In  it  his 
Holiness  addresses  Anne  as  one  of  his  flock.  If 
she  was  at  any  time  received  into  the  Catholic 
Church  there  is  doubtless  some  record  of  her  con- 
version in  the  Roman  archives  which  has  never 
yet  seen  the  light.  Strange  as  it  seems  that  so 
important  a  reference,  if  it  exists,  should  have 
escaped  research,  it  would  be  stranger  still  if  the 
Pontiff  credited  the  Queen  in  paternal  terms 
with  holding  a  faith  to  which  she  had  never  given 
her  adherence.  The  solution  has  been  suggested 
that  because  Anne  celebrated  the  office  of  touch- 
ing for  the  evil  according  to  the  Latin  formula, 
the  Pope  for  this  reason  claimed  her  as  a  Roman 
Catholic.  The  office,  it  is  pointed  out,  contains 
invocations  to  the  Virgin  Mary  not  in  harmony 
with  the  Anglican  system.  The  solution  is 
altogether  unsatisfying,  because  the  doctrine  of 
the  invocation  of  saints  is  only  a  minor  point  of 
difference  between  the  two  communions.  One 
may  be  pardoned  therefore  for  imagining  some 
other  explanation  more  closely  allied  to  human 
emotions,  more  akin  to  the  clash  of  contending 
interests,  which  have  given  to  the  intriguing 
Cockpit  its  romantic  glamour. 

Anne's  defence  of  Sarah  from  the  attack  made 
upon  her  by  Mary  of  Orange  was  full  of  unex- 

175 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

pected  spirit,  so  unexpected  that  it  almost  looked 
as  if  she  scarcely  feared  a  quarrel  with  her  sister. 
Such  a  mood  would  be  in  harmony  with  a  certain 
impatience  of  the  Orange  alliance,  or  a  doubt  that 
in  the  coming  crisis  her  brother-in-law  could 
prevail  against  the  King,  and  that  she  might 
safely  set  a  limit  to  the  sacrifices  of  dignity  and 
loyalty  to  be  made  on  his  behalf.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  the  King's  temper  hardened  to  the  true 
spirit  of  the  Stuart  autocrat.  He  became  now  to 
his  finger-tips  his  father's  son,  determined,  like  a 
gambler,  to  take  every  hazard  rather  than  stand 
to  win  any  but  the  supreme  stake.  And  Anne, 
meeting  such  a  prince  every  day,  spending  hours 
in  his  company,  had  to  keep  a  watch  upon  her 
every  word  and  look.  A  smile,  a  glance,  a  lifting 
of  the  eyebrow  might  have  betrayed  the  dark 
background  of  her  thoughts.  A  braver  spirit 
than  hers,  inspired  by  a  cause  more  honest,  might 
be  excused  for  growing  weary  of  such  a  long- 
sustained  effort  to  maintain  a  poise  so  delicate. 
And,  sick  to  death  of  the  life  she  was  leading,  she 
may  have  welcomed  some  sign  that  the  King's 
policy  was  triumphing,  not  for  love  of  him,  but 
just  as  a  man  condemned  to  die  hails  as  a  relief 
the  bitter  end  which  reprieves  him  from  the 
infinite  tortures  of  a  distracted  mind. 

Looking  back  now  on  that  spring  of  1688  one 
sees  clearly  enough  whither  James  was  drifting. 

176 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  one  is  apt  to  forget  that  his  contemporaries 
were  denied  an  equally  distinct  vision  of  the 
direction  of  the  tide,  and  to  lose  sight  of  the 
multitudinous  anxieties  of  those  whose  lives  and 
fortunes  trembled  in  the  balance. 

Far  from  the  course  of  history  presenting  an 
unobstructed  view,  far  from  the  final  settlement 
being  the  inevitable  deduction  from  a  cut-and- 
dried  set  of  factors,  the  reverse  was  the  case,  and 
the  most  profound  seer  amongst  them  all  had  no 
certainty  as  to  the  ultimate  issue  of  a  strife  which 
in  the  end  seemed  to  be  decided  by  a  whim  of 
the  gods. 

The  extreme  partisans  were  ready  to  take  any 
risks,  but  prudent  men  of  shrewd  judgment  and 
long  experience  were  not  only  doubtful  as  to  the 
issue  before  the  crisis  came,  but  were  equally  a 
prey  to  uncertainty  when  the  hour  arrived  for 
decisive  action.  Godolphin,  most  cautious  of 
statesmen,  bred  up  at  Court,  familiar  with  all 
the  opposing  characters  in  the  conflict,  demon- 
strated his  discretion  by  his  profound  reserve. 
Godolphin  was  the  man  of  illimitable  common 
sense.  Anne  would  watch  his  every  move, 
striving  to  learn  something  of  the  devious  ways 
to  fortune  when  every  face  was  a  mask,  and 
every  path  was  mined  and  cross-mined  with 
tunnels  leading  to  Heaven  alone  knew  where. 
But  from  Godolphin  she  could  learn  nothing. 

VOL.    I  177  N 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

They  said  he  worshipped  the  Queen,  to  whom  he 
was  chamberlain.  The  beautiful  Blague,  the  lily 
amongst  the  flaunting  passion-flowers  of  the 
masque  of  long  ago,  was  dead,  and  the  bereaved 
courtier  found,  no  doubt,  some  romantic  pleasure 
in  serving  a  lady  as  stainless  as  the  departed 
Margaret.  But  this  old-world  sentiment,  so 
congenial  to  one  of  an  ancient  Celtic  race,  did  not 
exclude  a  wary  regard  for  the  future  in  the  shape 
of  a  vague  understanding  with  Orange,  and  which, 
were  she  to  know  of  it,  would  do  no  more  than 
confirm  Anne's  perplexity. 

Turning  from  the  immediate  circle  at  White- 
hall to  the  wider  and  more  representative  arena 
of  politics,  Anne  could  not  fail  to  be  impressed 
by  the  reticence  of  the  most  brilliant  leader  in 
Parliament.  Halifax  was  the  most  accomplished 
politician  of  the  day.  He  had  in  the  past 
achieved  great  things,  and  now  that  great  things 
were  expected,  men  looked  to  him  to  light  the 
torch  and  lead  the  way.  But  Halifax  was  the 
Prince  of  Trimmers,  and  when  one  of  intellect  so 
commanding  temporised,  who  would  be  surprised 
at  doubt  and  hesitation  on  the  part  of  a  woman 
who  should  always  find  her  strength  in  others  ? 
It  was  not  that  he  was  on  occasion  wanting  in 
courage.  It  was  Halifax  who,  by  his  eloquence 
and  enthusiasm,  had  defeated  in  days  gone  by  the 
attempt  to  exclude  James  from  the  Throne  on 

178 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

account  of  his  religion.  But  for  Halifax,  James 
perhaps  would  never  have  grasped  the  sceptre, 
and  but  for  the  King's  want  of  sagacity  in  dis- 
missing Halifax  there  might  never  have  been  a 
Revolution. 

Halifax  was,  within  certain  limits,  an  oppor- 
tunist. But  this  opportunism,  so  convenient  and 
indispensable  in  secondary  affairs,  had  to  yield  to 
immovable  obstinacy  in  matters  which  he  was 
pleased  to  regard  as  of  prime  importance.  At 
the  death  of  Charles  II.  he  was  Lord  Privy  Seal. 
He  surrendered  the  Privy  Seal  to  become  Lord 
President  of  the  Council.  Halifax,  however, 
soon  discovered  that  his  new  dignities  were  void 
of  substantial  power,  and  that  his  voice  in  the 
government  was  as  futile  as  the  soundless  cries 
of  a  nightmare.  At  first  the  proud  noble  could 
hardly  realise  that  he  who  had  deserved  so  well 
was  in  reality,  if  not  in  theory,  set  aside  in  favour 
of  men  who  could  boast  few  of  his  qualifications 
for  the  service  of  the  Crown. 

Halifax,  the  champion  of  legitimacy,  the  man 
who  had  defeated  the  Exclusion  Bill,  and  aroused, 
almost  single-handed,  the  latent  loyalty  of  Parlia- 
ment and  the  country  in  James's  defence,  saw  a 
gambler  in  all  things  like  the  reckless  and  versa- 
tile Sunderland  preferred  before  him  in  the 
councils  of  the  Sovereign.  This  King-maker, 
proud  as  his  prototype,  could  not  brook  this 

179 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

humiliation,  and  with  the  same  deadly  efficacy 
formerly  employed  for  James  he  now  combated 
the  measures  on  which  the  monarch  had  set  his 
heart.  Halifax  was  a  man  of  great  weight  in 
the  government  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  King 
bent  upon  adventures  which  would  arouse  wide- 
spread hostility  and  suspicion.  His  pre-eminent 
ability  was  unquestioned.  He  represented  the 
cast  of  mind  which  was  accepted  as  the  standard 
sense  of  proportion  by  the  thinking  elements  of 
the  nation.  His  mind  was  free  from  what  a 
people  always  a  little  impatient  of  the  Church 
would  call  the  ecclesiastical  taint ;  if  by  breed- 
ing he  was  a  cavalier,  he  was  also  an  apostle 
of  free  speech  ;  if  his  life  was  not  exemplary, 
it  was  at  all  events  orderly  and  dignified. 
He  was  too  wise  to  be  a  rake  and  a  coxcomb, 
and  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  ac- 
counted inferior  to  either  in  any  society,  how- 
ever frivolous. 

Brilliant  as  his  brother-in-law,  Sunderland,  his 
suave,  easy  nature  mantled  sterner  stuff  than  any 
which  entered  into  the  grain  of  Robert's  un- 
principled nature.  On  the  question  of  the  Test 
Act  Halifax  threw  down  the  gage  of  battle  to  the 
King,  and  was  dismissed  from  his  office  for  his 
hardihood.  Yet  this  man,  who  might  be  pardoned 
for  evincing  hostility  which  the  King  had  courted, 
manifested  during  these  eventful  months  of  the 

180 


spring  of  1688  no  desire  to  overthrow  James. 
On  the  contrary,  having  made  some  allowance  for 
his  natural  desire  to  enjoy  the  goodwill  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  his  conduct  does  not  augur 
very  complete  confidence  in  the  hopes  of 
William's  more  zealous  supporters.  He  had  too 
much  to  lose  to  take  sides  lightly. 

Like  him,  Anne  had  much  to  lose,  had  more 
to  lose,  indeed,  than  the  whole  array  of  conspir- 
ators and  trimmers  marshalled  together.  And 
in  proportion  to  the  huge  stake  she  had  to  hazard, 
was  her  distress.  When  at  length  she  had  to 
make  her  choice  and  enroll  herself  finally  under 
the  banner  of  her  father's  enemy,  her  hand  did 
not  pen  the  vow  of  treachery.  Churchill  it  was 
who,  in  a  fine  frenzy  of  devotion  to  all  holy  things, 
as  so  consecrated  by  the  High  Priestess,  Sarah, 
and  himself,  pledged  to  the  Prince  of  Orange 
Anne's  resolve  to  lose  her  life  before  being  guilty 
of  apostasy.  The  pledge  was,  under  any  circum- 
stances, a  safe  one  for  Anne.  Little  likely  was 
she  to  lose  anything  while  her  father  was  King 
of  England.  Rather  more  heroic  was  Churchill's 
vow  for  himself  that  he  would  lose  all  his  places 
before  changing  his  faith.  But  alas  for  Jack's 
sense  of  humour  !  The  great  soldier  was  no 
artist,  and  with  one  stroke  of  the  pen  he  marred 
the  touching  picture  of  a  broken  soldier  going 
forth,  having  lost  all  for  his  faith,  to  court  fortune 

181 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

at  the  sword's  point  over  the  seas.  Why  should 
he  be  prepared  to  lose  only  his  places?  Why 
not  a  more  sublime  flight  of  fancy?  And  the 
pen  stumbling  along  its  uncertain  course  pro- 
claimed that  the  gallant  Churchill  would,  if  the 
need  arose,  shed  the  last  drop  of  his  blood  for  the 
tenets  he  revered. 


182 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  T  A,  the  King !  " 

L^     "  Heavens,  madam,  the  King  !  " 

Anne  started  to  her  feet  to  salute  the  Sovereign. 

The  King  it  was,  and  the  ladies  who  had  cried 
out  in  their  surprise  and  confusion  had  just  time 
to  rush  pell-mell  into  a  closet,  where  they  huddled 
together,  holding  their  breaths,  leaving  all  alone  in 
her  chamber  their  mistress,  the  Princess  Anne. 

The  imperious  dames  who,  forgetting  their 
accustomed  dignity,  raced  like  schoolgirls  to 
cover,  were  Lady  Churchill  and  Lady  Fitz- 
harding.  The  King's  guards  could  not  detain 
their  ladyships  this  morning  to  pay  their  respects 
to  their  liege.  Rumpled  silks  and  torn  laces  and 
touzled  locks — even  powder  and  patches  brushed 
off  in  the  scrimmage — were  small  misfortunes  in 
comparison  with  a  meeting,  face  to  face,  with  the 
King  under  the  circumstances  which  they  were 
aware  brought  him  to  the  Cockpit. 

Curtseying  low  before  him,  the  King  may  well 
have  noted  that  the  Princess's  lips  were  bloodless, 
that  her  hands  trembled,  that  she  drew  herself  up 

183 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

slowly,  as  though  her  limbs  had  suddenly  grown 
leaden.  She  scarcely  raised  her  eyes  to  her  father's 
face,  but  demurely  hung  her  head.  If  she  was  not 
really  ashamed  she  was,  perhaps,  a  little  afraid. 

Tenderly  did  the  King  take  the  young  matron's 
hands  in  his  and  kiss  her  lovingly.  She  was  in- 
expressibly dear  to  him,  this  winsome  lady  with 
the  rich  glossy  hair  of  chestnut-brown.  She  was 
the  last  link  left  him  with  the  romance  of  his 
youth,  now  that  a  husband  who  was  almost  his 
open  foe  had  robbed  him  of  his  Mary.  There 
were  tears  in  Anne's  eyes.  Like  the  spoiled 
child  she  was,  she  could  almost  blame  the  King 
or  any  one  for  the  distress  born  of  her  folly. 

The  Princess  was  in  debt.  At  another  time 
this  might  have  been  the  most  venial  sin  by  which 
a  Stuart  could  offend.  But  James  was  at  once 
rigid  and  liberal  in  the  regulation  of  money 
matters.  His  code  of  finance  was  simple  and 
straightforward  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  honest 
tradesman  in  the  City.  "  Live  within  your  means, 
and  pay  as  you  go,"  was  his  rule.  This  golden 
maxim,  borrowed  from  the  ideal  bourgeois  home, 
governed  the  Palace,  and  if  she  would  please  him 
his  daughter  should  not  depart  from  it  at  the 
Cockpit. 

But  Anne  had  no  reverence  for  golden  precepts, 
and  for  this  one  least  of  all.  Gold  was  made  to 
spend ;  and  not  only  did  they  spend  it  at  the 

184 


QUEEN   ANNE   AND   HER  COURT 

Cockpit,  it  seemed  as  if  they  used  to  melt  it  there. 
Hence  James's  saunter  across  Whitehall  Gardens 
this  morning,  saluting  gallant  and  dame,  serving- 
man  and  serving-maid  as  he  went,  for  all  were 
welcome  to  come  and  go  here,  and  hob-nob  with 
the  monarch  in  his  pleasure  grounds.  Not  all  the 
salutes  were,  however,  courteously  acknowledged 
to-day  as  the  beaux  swaggered  past,  courting  the 
Sovereign's  notice  with  sweeping  bows.  Wasted 
were  the  blushes  of  the  damsels  hastening  to  keep 
their  tryst  at  Rosamond's  Pond  in  St.  James's 
Park,  the  sanctuary  where  love-vows  were  ex- 
changed, for  the  King  was  blind  for  the  nonce  to 
coquetry,  though  usually  there  was  cheer  in  his 
eye  for  the  comedy  of  life's  springtime  as  played 
in  the  glades  close  by  his  threshold. 

His  Majesty's  air  was  preoccupied,  his  step  was 
spiritless.  On  his  brow  there  was  a  cloud.  He 
had  just  received  a  plaintive  appeal  from  Anne, 
and  in  person  he  was  going  to  answer  it.  She 
wanted  money,  a  great  deal  of  money,  to  satisfy 
her  creditors. 

Anne's  income  from  her  father  was  £32,000 
a  year,  a  sum  of  enormous  value  in  those  days, 
when  luxuries,  if  costly,  were  few,  while  all  the 
ordinary  needs  of  life  were  inexpensive.  Yet 
with  this  more  than  Royal  revenue  Anne  was 
heavily  embarrassed,  her  expenditure  being  £7,000 
in  excess  of  her  income. 

185 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  eavesdroppers  who  had  been  in  such  haste 
to  leave  Anne  alone  to  bear  the  King's  displeasure 
scarcely  breathed.  Curiosity  had  got  the  better 
of  their  fears.  They  wanted  to  feast  on  every 
word  of  this  Royal  encounter.  No  syllable  would 
they  willingly  lose.  They  pressed  their  hands 
upon  their  bosoms  to  still  the  noisy  panting  of 
their  hearts,  quickened  to  tumult  by  their  dash  to 
hiding.  But  so  gently  did  he  chide  this  foolish 
young  matron  that  there  reached  their  straining 
ears  only  broken  phrases  like  these : 

"A  noble  allowance.  .  .  .  Twice  cheerfully 
have  I  paid  your  debts  ...  no  word  of  remon- 
strance. ..." 

There  was  silence  in  the  chamber.  The  pri- 
soners in  the  closet  thought  their  hearts  would 
burst  in  their  frantic  efforts  to  make  no  sound 
which  might  betray  their  presence.  Eavesdrop- 
ping on  the  King  would  be  no  venial  offence 
to  be  punished  with  a  word  of  reproof.  If  the 
door  should  fly  open  and  reveal  these  crouching 
listeners,  their  careers  at  Court  were  at  an  end, 
and  the  Princess  would  be  in  need  of  two  gentle- 
women for  her  household.  If  some  malevolent 
sprite  had  but  made  either  lady  cough,  or  scream 
at  the  invasion  of  some  imaginary  mouse,  loyal 
service  would  have  been  done  to  the  King  and  his 
daughter.  For  these  ladies  spying  on  the  Royal 
pair  were  likely  to  be  of  more  worth  to  the  Crown 

186 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

at  a  distance  from  Court  than  as  pampered  inmates 
of  the  Palace. 

Sarah  is  a  familiar  figure.  Lady  Fitzharding 
is  rather  less  so.  But  she  is  a  stranger  only 
because  of  her  married  title.  Lady  Fitzharding 
was  one  of  the  daughters  of  Lady  Frances  Villiers, 
Anne's  old  governess.  She  had  played  with  the 
Princess  and  Mary  of  Orange  in  the  days  of  their 
childhood  at  Richmond.  There  were  six  of  the 
Villiers  sisters.  A  large  family,  with  their  for- 
tunes in  such  wits  as  Heaven  had  endowed  them 
with,  each  in  her  own  way  managed  to  transmute 
opportunity  into  gold.  The  eldest  of  the  band  led 
the  way  to  the  conquest  of  power.  Her  deeds 
are  writ  large  all  over  the  period.  She  was  the 
real  Princess  of  Orange,  a  princess  to  make  the 
sensitive  shudder.  How  Elizabeth  Villiers  broke 
the  spirit  of  Mary,  and  broke  her  heart,  if  a  heart 
she  had  to  break,  is  a  story  which  began  on  a 
honeymoon  the  dreariest  that  ever  was,  and  ended 
only  at  Kensington  Palace  when  Mary's  spirit 
had  fluttered  away  to  rest.  In  the  history  of  the 
time  one  meets  the  other  members  of  the  Villiers 
sisterhood  under  the  titles  of  Lady  Inchiquin, 
Mrs.  Berkeley,  Madame  Puissars,  Madame  Ben- 
tinck,  and  Lady  Fitzharding. 

The  whole  family  were  more  or  less  William's 
agents,  and  Sarah's  companion  at  the  Cockpit 
was  the  Orange  spy  of  Anne's  household.  There 

187 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  no  secrecy  in  the  relations  of  William  with 
Elizabeth  Villiers.  Anne  was  aware  of  the  thorny 
road  along  which  lay  her  sister's  pilgrimage, 
and  resented  it  with  a  degree  of  vehemence 
which  helped  to  make  her  brother-in-law  loathe 
her.  Her  indignation,  frankly  expressed  at  the 
indignities  heaped  upon  her  sister  by  the  eldest 
of  the  Villiers  tribe,  seems  scarcely  consistent 
with  her  patronage  of  Lady  Fitzharding.  Family 
ties  were,  however,  by  no  means  indissoluble 
bonds  of  friendship.  Anne  herself  was  not  a 
pattern  of  fidelity  to  claims  of  kinship,  and  why 
should  others  be  bound  by  ties  to  which  the 
Stuarts  were  indifferent? 

Moreover,  Anne  was  vain  enough  to  suppose 
that  where  she  condescended  to  show  favour, 
her  protegee  should  be  infallibly  content.  That 
she  should  trust  Lady  Fitzharding  was  to  her 
mind  a  sufficient  reason  why  her  ladyship  should 
love  her  and  treasure  her  secrets  as  she  would 
her  life.  Just  as  Elizabeth  Villiers  had  obtained 
a  fatal  ascendency  over  the  affections  of  Mary 
when  both  were  children,  and  just  as  Sarah  had 
established  her  dominion  over  Anne,  so  Lady 
Fitzharding  had  inspired  some  attachment  in  the 
heart  of  the  younger  princess  which  obtained  for 
her  a  place  amongst  the  retinue  at  the  Cockpit. 
Sarah,  with  her  deep  insight  into  human  nature, 
must  have  had  little  relish  for  the  association. 

188 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

It  meant  that  there  was  in  the  Palace  a  faithful 
chronicler  of  her  conduct  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange.  But  against  this  there  was 
an  advantage  which  in  some  measure  counter- 
balanced it.  She  had  under  her  eyes  an  agent 
of  The  Hague  conspirators,  an  agent  who,  while 
prying  into  the  affairs  of  others,  could  not  veil 
all  her  own  from  wits,  the  keenest  at  the  Court. 
Let  her  tell  all  she  could  discover,  with  Sarah  as 
inquisitor  she  would  reveal  more  than  she  could 
ever  learn. 

Hush  !  the  King  is  speaking  again. 

One  of  the  two  prisoners  of  the  closet,  as  she 
listened,  gasped  in  anger  or  astonishment.  It 
was  Sarah. 

"...  I  am  convinced,"  the  King  went  on, 
"  that  you  have  about  you  some  one  for  whose 
sake  you  have  plunged  yourself  into  these  in- 
conveniences. ..." 

Sarah  could  have  cried  out.  Her  eyes  blazed. 
Her  handsome  face  grew  purple  with  rage.  She 
clenched  her  hands  until  the  nails  dug  deep  into 
the  palms  !  Lady  Fitzharding,  trembling  for  her 
own  safety,  would  whisper  a  petition  that  she 
might  not  betray  them  both.  Poor  fool !  As 
if  the  peril  of  a  Villiers  could  move  Sarah 
Churchill  to  compassion.  The  beautiful  virago, 
confident  of  her  own  strength  to  restrain  her 
wrath  within  prudent  limits,  and  with  no  mind 

189 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  deny  herself  the  luxury  of  so  indulging  it, 
glared  like  a  tigress  upon  her  companion  who, 
cowering  into  herself,  repented  her  impertinence  ! 

Again  the  King's  voice  reached  them,  still  soft 
and  kind,  but  very  serious. 

"...  For  the  future,"  he  said,  "you  must 
regulate  your  establishment  with  more  diligent 
economy.  ..." 

The  King  could  see  that  the  Princess  was 
deeply  wounded  by  his  rebuke.  Feelings,  at 
least  in  part  due  to  the  circumstance  that  there 
were  witnesses  to  this  chiding,  were  attributed 
by  the  King  to  causes  far  more  worthy  of  a 
daughter.  With  a  few  words  of  farewell,  the 
more  gentle  because  designed  to  alleviate  her 
distress,  His  Majesty  retired. 

Now  there  was  no  further  need  for  restraint. 
Like  a  tigress  Sarah  bounded  from  her  lair. 
Her  tongue  was  loosed,  and  nimbly  did  it  keep 
pace  with  her  fury. 

"  Oh,  madam  1 "  she  cried,  "  this  is  all  due  to 
that  old  rascal,  your  uncle  !  " 

The  old  rascal  was,  of  course,  Lord  Rochester, 
who  at  the  date  of  this  incident  had  not  yet 
been  relieved  of  the  Treasurership  through  the 
success  of  Sunderland's  chicanery.  Rochester, 
it  would  seem,  blamed  the  Churchills  for  the 
depleted  purse,  which  was  a  periodical  occasion 
of  agitation  to  Anne.  At  such  times  James 

190 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  her  never-failing  refuge.  The  wild  profusion 
of  her  expenditure  was  less  exasperating  to  the 
King  than  the  mystery  in  which  its  cause  was 
developed. 

The  Princess  could  supply  no  satisfactory 
explanation  of  her  bankrupt  condition.  Nor 
were  her  accounts  more  illuminating.  Anne 
was  an  inveterate  gambler.  Cards  and  the  chase 
supplied  her  only  distractions.  Her  passion  for 
play  would  easily  account  for  her  embarrassments, 
for  ruinous  stakes  were  nightly  lost  and  won  in 
the  clubs  and  salons,  and  the  King's  daughter  at 
the  Cockpit  would  naturally  play  for  sums  just 
as  large  or  as  small  as  pleased  her.  If  Anne  as 
a  rule  lost  her  money,  and  Sarah  as  regularly 
won  it,  the  fortunate  lady  who  obliged  her 
mistress,  with  so  much  profit  to  herself,  would 
regard  her  winnings  as  a  legitimate  source  of 
gain,  the  fair  wage  of  one  who  beguiled  the 
hours  that  hung  so  heavily  on  the  hands  of  her 
Royal  patron. 

Basset  was  possibly  not  the  only  form  of 
extravagance  which  made  such  disastrous  inroads 
on  the  Princess's  revenue,  nor  the  guineas  swept 
from  the  card-table  the  only  consolations  of 
Sarah's  service.  Gifts  in  keeping  with  the 
Royal  donor's  rank  and  the  merits  of  the 
recipient  may  have  helped  Lady  Churchill  to 
support  the  trials  of  existence  at  Court. 

191 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

An  incident  of  life  at  the  Cockpit  at  this 
time  illustrates  at  once  Sarah's  liberal  notions  of 
her  own  deserts,  and  with  what  nicety  of  detail 
the  Prince  of  Orange  was  posted  in  the  details 
of  its  household  arrangements.  For  the  Cock- 
pit, two  pages  of  the  backstairs  were  required. 
The  Princess  Anne  granted  permission  to  Lady 
Churchill  to  sell  these  two  places.  There  was 
nothing  extraordinary  in  the  privilege.  The 
sale  of  posts  of  all  sorts  was  a  practice  con- 
secrated by  custom.  The  only  antidote  to  the 
abuses  which  flourished  under  such  a  tradition 
was  the  publicity  with  which  the  transactions 
were  conducted.  But  though  there  was  nothing 
unusual  in  the  concession  extended  to  her 
favourite  by  Anne,  the  sale  of  the  places  was 
attended  with  strange  consequences  indeed. 

Lady  Churchill's  choice  fell  upon  two  Catholics. 
It  was  a  remarkable  selection,  which  examination 
makes  none  the  less  inscrutable.  The  new 
pages  paid  twelve  hundred  pounds  for  her  lady- 
ship's patronage ;  but  there  must  have  been 
many  sound  Protestants  who  would  have  paid 
as  much  for  the  honour  of  waiting  on  the 
second  lady  in  the  kingdom.  When  the  ap- 
pointments were  announced  there  was  instant 
commotion.  The  interests  of  Orange  were  im- 
perilled !  The  Establishment  was  at  stake  !  One 
Catholic  page  of  the  backstairs  was  a  menace 

192 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  the  picture  by  Sir  Godfrey  Knellcr  in  the 
National  Portrait  Gallery. 

SARAH   JENNINGS,  LADY  CHURCHILL,   LATER  DUCHESS  OF 
MARLBOROUGH. 


p.  192. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  the  liberties  of  England  to  make  brave  men 
shudder,  but  a  backstairs  held  by  two  Papists  ! 
By  the  blood  of  the  martyrs,  never  !  The  storm 
frightened  Anne.  She  puckered  her  brows  and 
concentrated  her  mind  on  a  great  effort  to 
appreciate  all  sides  of  this  momentous  con- 
troversy. A  light  dawned  upon  her.  If  one 
of  these  fellows  should  invoke  saints  on  her 
backstairs  !  If  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night 
one  of  these  flunkeys  should  cross  himself  1  They 
might  introduce  holy  water  surreptitiously  into 
the  Cockpit,  and  Prince  George,  sensitive  though 
he  was  to  error,  might  mistake  the  bottle.  .  .  . 
The  thought  was  too  dreadful.  The  pages  were 
dismissed,  and  the  partisans  of  Orange  once 
more  breathed  freely. 

Sarah's  troubles  only  began  when  grace 
illuminated  thus  happily  the  recesses  of  Anne's 
mind.  She  held  twelve  hundred  pounds  belong- 
ing to  these  villains  who  had  so  insidiously 
threatened  the  serenity  of  the  Kingdom.  What 
was  she  to  do  with  all  this  money  ?  The  rejected 
pages  would  gladly  receive  it  back.  But  their 
disgrace  had  to  be  taken  into  consideration. 
Could  so  much  money  be  entrusted  to  such 
rascals  with  justice  to  their  distracted  country  ? 
Sarah,  by  a  mathematical  process  known  only  to 
herself,  worked  out  an  answer  to  the  problem, 
and  her  unlucky  proteges  were  returned  eight 

VOL.  i  193  o 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

hundred  pounds,  the  balance  of  four  hundred 
pounds  being  the  measure  of  their  chastisement 
and  of  their  patroness's  compensation. 

The  extraordinary  timbre  of  Sarah's  conscience 
with  regard  to  money  matters  may  be  deduced 
to  some  extent  from  the  misfortune  of  these  two 
gentlemen.  But  to  Sarah  the  transaction  wore 
a  complexion  grotesquely  virtuous.  She  actually 
boasted  of  her  part  in  it  as  an  example  of  her 
magnanimity. 

A  nobler  conception  of  her  duty  towards  one 
at  least  of  the  victims  of  Orange  intolerance 
inspired  Anne.  This  man  had  long  been  in  her 
service  in  other  capacities,  and  would  no  doubt 
have  continued  at  the  Cockpit  had  not  his  desire 
to  purchase  advancement  obtained  for  him  un- 
fortunate recognition  at  The  Hague.  When 
obliged  to  send  him  away  in  deference  to  the 
wishes  of  her  sister  Mary,  who  traced  some  deep 
political  intrigue  in  the  whole  affair,  though 
doubtless  not  of  her  own  unaided  vision,  the 
dismissed  servitor  was  liberally  provided  for  by 
Anne.  This  sympathy  for  an  old  retainer  was 
characteristic  of  the  Princess.  Her  generosity 
indeed  constituted  one  of  her  greatest  charms. 
She  delighted  to  give.  Yet  by  some  strange 
contradiction,  this  lady  of  contradictions,  this 
Princess  Perverse,  who  was  always  eager  to 
shower  rewards  upon  her  friends  and  retainers, 

194 


would  not  make  for  her  father  the  smallest 
sacrifice. 

Her  prodigality,  her  reckless  contempt  for 
money,  impart  to  Anne  something  of  the  in- 
definable but  irresistible  Stuart  glamour.  No 
one  of  the  doomed  and  fascinating  race  was  like 
any  other.  And  yet  the  portrait  of  a  Stuart, 
whether  vices  or  virtues  predominate,  is  un- 
mistakable. They  stand  alone  in  their  sins, 
alone  in  their  sorrows,  alone  in  their  ambitions. 
No  one  thinks  of  James  I.  or  Charles  II.  in 
relation  to  Anne.  Yet  the  same  unbounded 
extravagance  adorns  the  life  of  each  with  a  certain 
gay  and  reckless  splendour.  Anne  disdained  to 
think  about  money.  Instead,  she  thought,  as  it 
were,  in  gold.  But  in  the  end  there  was  little  to 
show  for  all  this  child-like  trust  that,  as  the  fields 
produced  their  fruits  with  unfailing  regularity, 
so  would  the  Treasury  ever  yield  an  abundant 
harvest.  Her  imagination  was  too  limited,  her 
knowledge  of  the  world  too  restricted,  her  educa- 
tion too  shallow  to  admit  of  her  extravagance 
ever  leading  her  into  the  commission  of  anything 
brilliant.  It  made  her  an  easy  victim  for  those 
who  were  given  the  chance  to  fleece  her,  and 
scrupled  not  to  use  it.  That  was  all. 

The  delightful  confusion  which  reigned  in  the 
administration  of  the  finances  of  the  Cockpit  is 
illustrated  by  the  achievement  of  the  accountant, 

195 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  Mr.  Maule.  The  audacious  Etherege,  did  he 
but  know  of  this  gentleman's  name  and  station, 
might  have  been  pardoned  for  seeing  a  pun  in 
the  former ;  and  the  jest  would  have  been 
warranted  by  the  manner  in  which  the  Princess's 
affairs  suffered  under  his  able  supervision. 
Maule's  training  as  an  accountant  was  in  keeping 
with  the  spirit  of  the  Cockpit.  His  service  began 
as  bedchamber  man  to  Prince  George.  In  this 
office  the  most  exacting  strain  upon  his  intellect 
would  perhaps  consist  in  counting  the  wine.  His 
duties,  however,  such  as  they  were,  left  Mr. 
Maule  some  leisure,  and  this  happy  circumstance 
saved  his  talents  as  a  bookkeeper  from  being 
buried  in  oblivion. 

The  Churchills  were  the  instruments  of  Mr. 
Maule's  rise  to  fortune.  It  was  they  who  ob- 
tained for  him  admission  to  the  Royal  service ; 
and  to  Sarah  belongs  the  credit  of  having  dis- 
covered in  him  the  master  whose  sleight-of-hand 
would  make  her  mistress's  ledgers  balance  to  the 
penny.  But  alas  for  the  vanity  of  human  hopes  ! 
Under  Mr.  Maule's  expert  manipulation  the 
Princess's  position  became  worse  than  ever,  and 
the  visit  of  the  King  to  expostulate  with  her  on 
the  subject  of  her  failure  to  live  within  her 
income  marked  the  crown  of  his  labours.  At 
the  time  Sarah  blamed,  as  we  have  seen,  that 
"  old  rascal,"  Anne's  uncle,  for  the  King's  annoy- 

196 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

ance.  But  later,  when  Mr.  Maule  had  grown  to 
be  a  person  of  some  consequence,  he  had  the 
temerity  to  quarrel  with  the  lady  who  had 
watched  over  his  first  hesitating  steps  as  a  novice 
to  the  Court,  and  then  Sarah  cast  on  the  affair 
light  that  made  it  more  intelligible.  Complain- 
ing of  his  ingratitude,  she  wrote  : 

"  I  had  not  only  brought  him  to  be  bed- 
chamber man  to  the  Prince,  when  he  was  quite 
a  stranger  to  the  Court,  but,  to  mend  his  salary, 
had  invented  an  employment  for  him,  that  of 
overlooking  the  Prince's  accounts." 

Mr.  Maule's  ingratitude  must  be  forgiven  by 
posterity,  since  Sarah's  confession  that  she 
"  invented  "  this  employment  for  him  was  elicited 
by  his  offence  against  her.  Without  this  con- 
fession how  tame  a  personage  would  this  Maule 
be !  But  as  the  man  who  fired  Sarah's  genius  to 
invention,  we  can  at  once  see  in  him  an  agreeable 
and  aspiring  fellow,  very  amiable  and  very  clever, 
with  a  gift  for  making  himself  useful  when  re- 
quired, and  of  vanishing  when  superfluous.  And 
Maule  is  also  interesting,  not  only  because  of 
what  he  was,  but  because  of  what  he  symbolised. 
The  relations  of  Sarah  and  George's  bedchamber- 
men  were  to  be  repeated  a  little  later,  but  on  a 
more  impressive  scale,  with  Maule's  place  filled 
by  Abigail  Hill,  that  other  "  stranger  to  the 
Court,"  who  by-and-by  was  to  eclipse  the  im- 

197 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

perious  Sarah  herself,  and  fill  the  place  in  Anne's 
affections  where  Lady  Churchill  had  reigned  so 
long  an  unrivalled  autocrat. 

With  King  James's  warning  ringing  in  her 
ears,  "  For  the  future  you  must  regulate  your 
establishment  with  more  diligent  economy," 
Anne  had  to  appease  the  wrath  of  the  infuriated 
Sarah.  Unhappy  Princess  !  What  could  she  do 
with  Maule  as  her  accountant  and  Sarah  as  her 
monitress  and  his !  It  was  hopeless  .  .  .  hope- 
less !  And  so,  in  the  piling  up  of  the  temptations 
which  eventually  decided  the  Princess  on  the 
path  of  treachery,  lucre  doubtless  played  its  part, 
though,  with  all  her  faults,  she  loved  it  little. 
But  if  she  loved  it  little,  at  her  right  hand  were 
the  Churchills,  with  itching  palms,  having  much, 
but  ever  grasping  and  grasping  for  more. 


198 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  T~  MEAN  to  be  in  St.  James's  Palace  to-night, 
*•*•  if  I  lie  on  the  boards,"  exclaimed  Mary  of 
Modena.  And  the  Queen  was  as  good  as  her 
word.  Late  that  night  she  was  carried  to  the 
Palace,  which  had  been  her  first  English  home, 
and  there  was  born  to  her  on  the  following  day 
a  son  of  sorrow,  the  very  own  child  of  a  Queen 
of  Tears. 

The  night  was  that  of  the  9th  of  June,  1688, 
and  Mary,  feeling  that  she  was  fast  approaching 
the  gates  in  the  mist  beyond  which  all  was 
uncertainty,  was  impatient  to  escape  from 
Whitehall  to  her  old  home,  lying  very  brown  and 
dingy  across  the  Park,  like  a  castle  whose  lords  of 
restless  blood  often  wandered  to  far  distant  lands, 
leaving  its  echoing  courts  to  desolation  and  decay. 

Whitehall  was  the  gay  heart  of  a  spirited 
nation.  St.  James's  was  as  unlike  it  as  though 
the  paths  over  the  intervening  strip  of  green  were 
hundreds  of  miles  long,  leading  to  some  lonely 
outpost  where  grizzled  warriors  and  sad-faced 
women  garrisoned  some  forgotten  keep.  It  was 

199 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  very  place  to  enchain  the  imagination  of  a 
Queen  nurtured  on  the  legends  of  Italian  chivalry. 
The  angel-spirit  of  her  little  Isabelle  hovered 
round  its  turrets  and  blessed  its  galleries,  and  she 
willed  that  her  child  should  be  born  in  that 
hallowed  place. 

For  nearly  twenty  years  England  had  had  no 
Prince  of  Wales.  It  was  as  though  the  luck  of  the 
Royal  House  had  departed,  and  that  Nature  her- 
self had  executed  on  the  Stuarts  the  fate  to  which 
the  Cromwellians  had  condemned  them.  It  was 
late  in  1687  that  the  rumour  got  abroad  of  the 
Queen's  expectations.  The  King's  joy  was  bound- 
less. A  boy  was  the  prize  for  which  his  soul 
craved.  The  King  loved  his  daughters  dearly, 
especially  tender  was  his  affection  for  Anne  ; 
but  to  rule  a  great  kingdom  is  a  man's  work,  and 
the  man  for  Merrie  England  was  a  son  of  their 
kings.  How  he  prayed  to  be  blessed  with  a  son 
did  Heaven  alone  know  !  But  pray  he  did  with 
passionate  fervour,  and  to  his  prayers  were  united 
those  of  his  queen,  who,  with  touching  solicitude 
for  her  husband's  happiness,  loved  him  all  the 
more  intensely  because  of  her  wrongs.  Like 
another  Griselda,  she  won  her  lord  by  gentleness, 
passing  to  conquest  over  the  rugged  road  of 
tribulation.  The  gift  with  which  she  would 
reward  the  King  for  his  love  was  a  son,  and  none 
other  could  be  commensurate  with  her  passion  to 

200 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

delight  him,  nor  could  a  lesser  boon  make  him 
quite  content. 

For  this  not  only  did  King  and  Queen  pray, 
but  Heaven  was  stormed  with  petitions  on  their 
behalf.  Pilgrimages  were  performed,  relics  of 
the  blessed  invoked,  and  sacred  places  visited. 
King  James  sought  the  holy  well  of  St.  Winifred, 
and  at  the  ancient  Welsh  shrine  implored  the  gift 
to  his  House  of  a  prince  of  this  gallant  Celtic 
land — a  Prince  of  Wales.  The  Duchess  of 
Modena  begged  the  intercession  of  the  Madonna 
at  the  far-famed  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Loretto. 
There  she  prayed  with  all  the  fervour  of  a  mother 
that  the  Blessed  Lady  might  plead  before  the 
Throne  of  her  Son  for  the  Divine  breath — the 
wondrous  tongue  of  flame,  which,  knitting  the 
mysteries  of  Nature  and  Supernature,  makes  man. 

With  so  many  minds  inflamed  with  the  ardour 
of  desire  it  is  not  surprising  that  when  the  joyful 
news  of  the  Queen's  expectations  was  proclaimed 
the  emotional  translated  a  blessing  into  a  miracle. 
Forgetting  in  their  elation  that  Mary  of  Modena 
was  a  young  woman,  comparisons  were  instituted 
between  her  hopes  and  those  which  inspired  the 
aged  dame  in  Abraham's  tent  with  the  rapture  of 
a  bride.  It  was  the  ravishing  promise  of  the 
coming  of  Isaac. 

But  the  sky  was  not  all  cloudless.  The  good 
tidings  had  scarcely  been  announced  when  a 

20] 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

rumour,  softly  whispered  at  first  in  dark  places 
by  evil  tongues,  grew  and  grew  until  it  became 
the  gossip  of  the  market-place.  In  the  clubs, 
in  the  coffee-houses,  in  the  City  it  was  heard,  and 
the  loungers  in  Whitehall  gaped  at  the  Royal 
apartments  as  though  confirmation  of  this  fable 
might  be  espied  through  wicket  or  lattice.  It 
was  fable  that  in  one  form  or  another  has  been 
heard  in  every  land  where  broad  domains  have 
depended  upon  the  coming  of  a  baby  boy. 

It  was  said  that  if  a  girl  were  born  to  the 
Queen  a  spurious  infant  would  be  put  in  her 
place  who  would  be  palmed  off  on  the  nation  as 
Prince  of  Wales.  Surmise  is  baffled  as  to  who 
started  this  story,  which  imputed  the  grossest 
fraud  and  injustice  to  the  King  and  Queen.  A 
significant  look  from  some  Royal  personage  or 
political  magnate,  a  nod  of  doubt  or  acquiescence, 
a  cynical  smile,  the  lifting  of  an  eyebrow,  may 
have  given  completion  to  the  idea  but  half  formed 
in  some  underling's  brain,  and  only  half  uttered. 
But  the  kernel  of  the  calumny,  however  formed, 
grew  as  only  a  lie  can  grow.  Taken  up  by  the 
thoughtless,  their  imagination  endowed  it  with 
whatever  symmetry  they  deemed  essential  to 
so  momentous  a  secret  of  the  Palace.  And 
what  the  thoughtless  added  and  superadded  in 
their  zeal  for  art,  the  malignant  improved  upon 
in  their  zeal  for  mischief. 

202 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  Princess  Anne  was  captivated  by  this  notion 
of  a  Pretender  being  introduced  into  the  Palace 
as  a  Prince  of  Wales.  It  was  just  what  might 
have  been  expected  from  Anne.  To  analyse 
anything  which  ran  with  her  fancy  was  distaste- 
ful to  her.  Analysis  might  discover  weak  spots 
and  the  stamp  of  dishonesty.  This  would  be 
very  gratifying  to  a  searcher  after  truth,  but  very 
disappointing  to  a  lady  who,  if  the  truth  failed 
to  fit  her  theory,  was  only  angry  that  truth  should 
be  so  clumsy.  One  of  Anne's  theories  was  that 
Mary  of  Modena  was  not  destined  to  be  the 
mother  of  a  future  King  of  England.  The  only 
proof  which  the  Princess  could  adduce  in  its 
support  was  that  if  the  Queen  had  a  son  who 
lived,  she  herself  would  never  wear  the  Crown  ! 
To  this  amazing  logician  the  argument  was  con- 
clusive. She  could  not  believe  that  Nature 
would  be  guilty  of  inflicting  on  her  so  cruel  a 
disappointment.  The  blow  would  be  too  wanton. 
There  was,  of  course,  her  sister  Mary  to  come 
before  her.  A  poor  sort  of  Queen  she  would 
make,  to  be  sure  !  But  it  would  never  do  to  allow 
Nature  the  privilege  of  making  distinctions  and 
drawing  comparisons.  One  could  never  tell  to 
what  error  of  judgment  such  a  concession  might 
lead.  Amongst  her  friends  she  would  speak  her 
mind  frankly  about  Mary ;  but  to  Nature  never. 
So  there  was  Mary,  and  there  was  herself. 


England  was  made  for  them,  and  they  for 
England  ;  and  Nature,  confounded  by  the  subtlety 
of  the  reasoning,  humbly  said  : 

"  This  Queen  must  keep  her  vigil  with  arms 
empty.  Anyhow,  she  is  an  Italian,  and  very 
likely  a  Papist.  Let  her  be  scourged.  Here 
are  two  most  estimable  young  ladies  of  the 
English  Blood  Royal — whoever  mourns  they  must 
not  be  grieved.  One  of  them,  she  who  is  the 
younger  and  more  beautiful,  is  a  creature  of 
scintillating  wit.  That  logic  of  hers  leaves  me 
abashed.  How  fortunate  nobody  ever  thought 
of  reasoning  like  her  before,  or  poor  old  Nature 
might  go  to  sleep  !  " 

And  thus  it  was  that  Nature  laughed  at  Anne. 
When  it  became  apparent  to  the  Princess  that 
an  heir  might  be  born  her  chagrin  drove  her 
nearly  frantic.  Her  letters  survive  to  convict 
her  of  such  envy  and  malice  and  treachery  as 
would  be  credible  on  no  other  evidence. 

Anne,  writing  to  Mary  of  Orange,  prophesied 
that  her  father  would  very  shortly  have  a  son. 
The  prophecy  was  intended  to  convince  Mary 
of  the  King's  resolve  to  foist  a  spurious  child 
upon  the  realm.  The  Queen's  part  in  the  fraud 
she  touched  upon  thus  delicately  in  her  wrath  : 

"  When  any  one  talks  of  her  situation,  she  looks 
as  if  she  was  afraid  we  should  touch  her ;  and 
whenever  I  have  happened  to  be  in  the  room, 

204 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  she  has  been  undressing,  she  has  always  been 
gone  in  the  bedroom.  .  .  . 

"  These  things  give  me  so  much  suspicion, 
that  when  she  is  brought  to  bed  mo  one  will 
be  convinced  'tis  her  child,  unless  it  prove  a 
daughter." 

"  Unless  it  prove  a  daughter  !  "  Thus  does 
Anne  with  her  inimitable  impudence  dictate 
terms  to  Nature  herself.  And  again  "  If  the 
expected  offspring  should  not  prove  a  daughter  " 
it  would  not  be  the  Queen's  child. 

Never  was  there  such  drawing-room  comedy 
with  the  spirit  of  tragedy  hovering  near.  But 
Anne  was  conscious  neither  of  the  humour  nor 
the  pathos.  She  was  too  grimly  in  earnest  in 
her  efforts  to  prove  that  Mary  of  Modena's 
children  should  be  all  girls,  and  that  her  boys 
should  be  other  people's. 

Anne  found  Mary  of  Orange  an  inquiring 
rather  than  an  effusive  correspondent.  The 
letters  from  The  Hague  to  the  Cockpit  during 
this  period  were  apparently  destroyed,  or  if  in 
existence  their  whereabouts  have  yet  to  be  dis- 
covered. But  Mary  had  passed  through  too  stern 
a  discipline  to  revel  in  childish  make-believes. 
With  something  of  the  unfeeling  austerity  of 
her  husband's  nature  she  learned  of  the  mad  tales 
of  the  scandalmongers,  valued  them  at  their  true 
worth,  and  if  within  her  heart  one  chord  of 

205 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

sympathy  stirred  because  of  the  persecution  with 
which  her  hapless  stepmother  was  being  pursued, 
she  made  no  sign  of  pity.  Numbed  with  her 
own  sufferings,  atrophied  with  neglect,  pity,  per- 
haps, was  dead  within  her  soul ;  or  if  it  were  not 
dead,  then  none  was  left  for  others  when  Mary 
of  Orange,  loveless,  friendless,  childless,  scorned, 
had  had  her  due. 

Once  more  we  tread  the  mazes  of  Whitehall. 
This  time  we  turn  our  backs  upon  the  Cockpit, 
and  invade  the  Royal  apartments.  Golden  can- 
delabra glisten  on  the  walls.  Ceilings  and  panels 
are  gorgeous  with  the  masterpieces  of  Europe's 
greatest  painters.  The  marble  staircases  are 
guarded  by  Royal  servants  in  resplendent  livery. 
Hush  !  there  is  the  hum  of  voices  which,  low  and 
musical,  with  a  certain  vibrant  note  of  command 
pervading  it,  announces  the  sanctuary  of  the 
purple.  Unseen  hands  fold  backwards  the 
tapestries  .  .  .  Behold  the  Queen's  drawing- 
room  !  For  an  instant  the  picture  dazzles  one. 
The  golden  candelabra,  the  ladies'  jewels,  the 
men's  rapiers,  the  flashing  eyes,  the  shining  silks, 
the  clouds  of  filmy  lace,  the  panels  of  bold  and 
lifelike  colouring,  confuse  with  their  multi- 
tudinous impressions.  But  only  for  a  moment ; 
then  colour  blends  with  colour,  and  the  whole 
stands  forth,  with  the  Queen  and  a  few  ladies 
playing  cards  in  the  centre  at  a  dainty  inlaid 

206 


table,  a  tableau  of  flawless  design,  of  impeccable 
taste. 

Close  by  the  Queen  was  Godolphin,  paler  than 
usual,  his  immobile  features  set  like  a  figure 
sculptured  in  marble.  Ever  and  anon  his  eye 
wandered  from  the  Queen  to  the  door,  and  back 
again  to  the  Queen.  Very  different  from  the 
child-bride  we  saw  in  the  theatre  at  Whitehall  the 
night  of  the  masque,  is  this  pensive  lady  who  now, 
with  Royal  bravery,  though  distracted  with  fear 
and  oppressed  with  illness  and  apprehension, 
holds  her  Court. 

A  gentleman  approaches  Godolphin.  The 
Chamberlain's  features  relax  a  little  as  though 
relieved  by  the  whispered  tidings.  Then  the 
Minister  approaches  the  Queen,  and,  bowing  low 
to  her,  awaits  a  pause  in  the  card-playing  that 
he  may  deliver  his  message. 

The  poor  young  Queen  acknowledges  his 
obeisance  with  a  glance,  and  continues  the  game. 
Etiquette  compels.  She  is  on  the  rack  where 
the  grandees  of  the  earth  are  broken  with  smiles 
and  courtesies.  The  Queen  dropped  her  cards. 
Here  was  the  Minister's  chance. 

"  Madam,"  he  murmured,  "  St.  James's  Palace 
is  ready  for  your  reception." 

The  Queen  smiled.  Her  great  dark  eyes, 
made  almost  weirdly  brilliant  by  the  purple 
shadows  beneath  them,  were  instantly  shaded  by 

207 


the  heavily  fringed  lids.  Perhaps  there  were 
tears  in  them,  which,  not  for  the  Crown  of 
England,  would  she  have  her  companions 
observe.  Then  the  game  was  resumed.  Bravo, 
Mary  !  It  was  the  spirit  of  Este. 

It  was  close  upon  midnight  when  the  Court 
broke  up.  Then  the  Queen,  entering  her  sedan 
chair,  and  escorted  by  the  King  and  Godolphin, 
was  carried  across  the  Park  to  St.  James's  Palace. 
She  had  said  she  would  be  there  that  night, 
though  she  had  to  lie  on  the  boards.  And,  as 
good  as  her  word,  she  was  there. 

St.  James's  was  no  longer  the  lonely  castle 
deserted  by  its  lord,  made  more  lonely  by 
menials  idling  away  the  days  without  a  master. 
Now  the  old  palace  was  alive  to  the  very  battle- 
ments. King  and  Queen  had  come  with  their 
households,  and  if  there  had  been  some  danger 
that  Her  Majesty  should  have  had  to  lie  upon  the 
floor,  all  was  not  trim  and  comfortable,  we  may 
be  sure,  for  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  varying 
degrees  who  made  up  the  entourage  of  the  Court. 

The  June  sun  was  polishing  to  the  brightness 
of  marble  the  Palace  balustrades  next  morning, 
and  making  its  grimy  walls  scintillate  like 
battered  bronze  above  the  dewy  green  of  the 
sward  spreading  away  to  deserted  Whitehall, 
when  the  hopes  of  the  King  were  fulfilled,  and 
England  once  more  had  a  Prince  of  Wales. 

208 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  courtiers  galloped  forth  with  the  great 
news,  and  at  the  Tower  the  artillerymen,  stand- 
ing ready  by  the  guns,  heard  the  wild  clatter  of 
the  advancing  hoofs,  and,  ramming  home  the 
charge,  their  salute  burst  forth  over  the  City 
almost  before  the  lieutenant's  signal.  Again 
and  again  and  again  the  thunder  of  the  guns 
rolled  over  the  moat,  and  the  bells  of  the  City 
churches  burst  into  merry  peals. 

But  there  was  something  of  mockery  in  all 
these  signs  of  rejoicing.  The  baby  at  the  palace 
a  Prince  indeed  !  Not  he  !  He  was  the  son  of 
God-knows-who,  picked  up  to  delude  and  en- 
slave the  people.  For  months  prophets  and 
apostles  had  been  busy  preaching  the  gospel  of  a 
great  fraud  to  be  perpetrated  on  the  nation. 
Behold,  it  was  consummated !  Here  was  the 
scion  of  roguery  in  the  Palace  cradle  ! 

A  beggarly  miller's  son  was  to  be  the  future 
King  of  England. 

That  was  the  story  circulated  amongst  the 
people.  The  miller's  son,  they  said,  was  intro- 
duced into  the  Queen's  bedchamber  in  a  warm- 
ing-pan. To  Father  Petre  was  attributed  this 
master-stroke  of  policy.  Simple  folk  in  city  and 
country  believed  this  tale.  It  appealed  to  the 
crude  imagination  of  an  illiterate  populace,  who 
could  know  nothing  of  the  circumstances  which 
made  it  the  clumsiest  of  lies. 

VOL.  i  209  p 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  Queen's  bedchamber  and  the  adjacent 
apartments  and  corridors  were  alive  with  people 
all  through  that  eventful  Sabbath  morning.  Nor 
were  these  people  all  Catholics.  On  the  contrary 
a  great  number  of  them  were  opposed  to  the 
King  in  religion  and  politics.  The  moment 
the  Queen's  hour  had  come  messengers  were 
dispatched  to  summon  the  Queen  Dowager  and 
her  ladies,  the  members  of  the  Privy  Council, 
Ministers,  Ambassadors,  and  the  great  ladies  of 
the  household. 

One  lady  could  not  be  summoned.  The 
Mistress  of  the  Cockpit  was  not  at  home 
for  this  emergency.  She  was  at  Bath, 
taking  the  waters.  The  Jacobites  said,  after- 
wards, that  she  left  London  of  set  purpose 
sooner  than  be  a  witness  of  an  event  which 
might  blast  all  her  dearest  hopes.  The  Whigs, 
on  the  other  hand,  explained  her  absence  by  the 
fact  that  the  Queen  was  out  in  her  reckoning  by 
some  weeks,  and  that  if  the  child  had  not  been 
born  until  July,  as  was  anticipated,  she  would 
have  been  back  at  Whitehall  in  time  to  bear 
testimony  that  this  really  was  her  brother. 

Miss  Strickland,  a  chivalrous  defender  of  the 
persecuted  Queen,  believes  that  Anne  purposely 
went  into  the  country  to  avoid  being  present  at 
the  Queen's  bedside  under  circumstances  which 
would  have  given  the  lie  to  all  her  doubts  and 

210 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

suspicions,  and  have  at  the  same  time  deprived 
her  of  all  warrant  for  disputing  her  brother's  birth- 
right. Macaulay,  as  emphatic  on  the  other  side, 
excuses  Anne's  holiday  at  such  a  critical  period, 
when  her  whole  future  was  at  stake,  and,  according 
to  her  own  letters,  a  heinous  conspiracy  was  afoot, 
on  the  plea  that  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
be  at  her  post  a  month  beforehand.  But  before 
leaving  for  Bath,  Anne,  in  conversation  with  the 
Queen,  dropped  a  remark  which  makes  the 
judgment  of  historians  unnecessary.  She  said  : 

"  Madam,  I  think  you  will  be  ill  before  I 
return." 

It  was  with  the  conviction,  therefore,  that  all 
would  be  over  when  she  should  return  that  the 
Princess  turned  her  back  upon  London.  That  is 
to  say,  she  went  away  so  as  to  facilitate  the 
infliction  upon  herself  of  an  enormous  injustice. 
It  was  as  though  one  were  asked  to  believe  that 
she  handed  over  the  keys  of  her  treasure  to 
robbers,  and  having  heard  their  pleasure  and 
convenience,  moved  into  the  country  so  as  not 
to  incommode  their  operations. 

Anne's  uncle,  Lord  Clarendon,  and  Lord 
Rochester,  could  have  been  summoned  to  the 
Palace.  James,  however,  did  not  think  this  was 
necessary,  nor  did  he  invite  the  Dutch  Am- 
bassador to  be  present.  There  were  consequently 
no  representatives  of  the  interests  of  his  daughters ; 

211 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  though  no  blame  can  be  imputed  to  James 
for  failing  to  defend  himself  in  this  way  against 
a  crime  which  he  never  dreamt  of  committing, 
yet  the  occasion  called  for  extreme  foresight  and 
prudence.  The  test  of  both  was  success  or 
failure  .  .  .  and  James  failed. 

But  the  warming-pan  and  the  miller's  son  ! 
The  Queen  was  trembling  with  cold — the  cold 
of  fear.  With  teeth  chattering,  a  lamentable 
figure  in  her  misery,  her  ladies,  hurrying  in,  found 
her  seated  in  a  corner  of  her  apartment.  She 
asked  that  the  bed  might  be  warmed  before  she 
should  return  to  it.  The  Queen's  request  was 
a  command.  It  passed  from  lip  to  lip  through 
the  galleries  and  anterooms,  the  corridors  and 
halls,  until  it  reached  the  menials  in  the  Palace 
basement.  Every  one  of  them  had  heard  or 
read  of  the  plot  to  introduce  a  spurious  child 
into  the  Queen's  room.  All  night,  and  all 
through  the  morning,  they  had  been  watching 
and  listening. 

They  had  seen  the  guards  changed,  courtiers 
ride  into  the  courtyard  and  ride  away,  gentle- 
men gallop  forth  for  a  breath  in  Hyde  Park. 
Ladies  with  solemn  faces  and  ponderous  prayer- 
books  hastened  to  morning  prayers  at  the  Palace 
chapel.  But  there  was  no  baby,  no  mysterious 
carriage,  no  heavily-draped  nurse,  no  significant 
bundle  and  inevitable  tell-tale  cry.  .  .  . 

212 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

This  command  of  a  warming-pan  for  the 
Queen's  room  on  a  glorious  June  morning  was 
the  first  hint  to  the  servants  of  the  maturing  of 
a  dark  conspiracy.  The  pan  was  got  out  and 
dusted  and  well  filled  with  hot  coals,  red-hot  at 
that,  so  that  if  trickery  were  afoot  the  rogues 
should  at  least  burn  their  fingers,  and  perhaps 
by  rare  good  fortune  roast  the  brat  they  would 
make  a  Prince  of  Wales.  Heads  were  put 
together.  There  were  patriotic  maledictions  from 
the  Whigs  of  the  kitchen,  a  final  coal,  the  reddest 
and  hottest  in  the  grate,  was  crammed  into  the 
pan,  and  away  it  went  to  warm  the  Queen's 
bed,  while  the  whole  town  soon  had  it  that  when 
it  reached  Her  Majesty's  apartment  its  contents 
were  a  baby  boy — the  boy  for  whom  the  cannons 
thundered  and  the  bells  pealed. 

Though  two  hundred  years  have  passed,  there 
rises  before  the  mind's  eye  sharply,  vivid  as 
though  it  all  happened  but  yesterday,  a  vision 
of  the  sick  woman's  chamber,  wherein  every 
emotion  of  the  human  heart,  however  noble, 
however  tender,  however  base,  found  expression. 
The  Queen  in  her  travail  .  .  .  God  help  her  ! 
And  the  story  records  not  the  name  of  a  great 
lady  there  whose  eyes  were  wet  with  tears  of 
sorrow  and  of  reverence  for  this  martyrdom 
designed  by  God  for  woman  in  the  days  of  the 
Garden  one  knows  not  why  ! 

213 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

If  Anne  was  not  there  by  the  Queen,  an  old 
friend  of  hers  was  not  far  away — the  Earl  of 
Mulgrave.  Amidst  the  war  of  creeds  and 
factions,  amidst  the  maze  of  intrigues,  the  gay 
lover  of  the  Princess  in  the  days  of  her  Windsor 
romance  had  contrived  somehow  to  hold  his 
place  in  the  Royal  Household.  Whatever 
tender  feeling  Anne  had  once  inspired  had  long 
since  been  effaced  in  the  white-hot  furnace  of 
his  susceptible  heart.  To  him  the  place  was  a 
theatre,  the  sick  woman  the  heroine,  doing  her 
part  to  the  life.  This  was  better  than  the 
masques  of  the  last  reign,  an  entertainment  that 
not  Versailles  itself  could  excel.  .  .  . 

There  was  Sunderland,  too,  a  shade  less  suave 
than  was  his  wont,  for  none  knew  better  than 
he  how  quickly  now  the  tide  was  rising  which, 
surging  over  the  land,  might  bring  even  to  the 
most  prudent  traitor  of  them  all  destruction. 
And  when  the  flood  should  reach  him.  .  .  . 

Every  moment  the  group  of  gentlemen  at  the 
remote  end  of  the  chamber  grew  more  numerous. 
Jermyn  joined  Sunderland,  and  then  in  stalked 
the  soldierly  Peterborough.  Godolphin,  his  face 
impassive  as  a  mask,  soon  appeared.  They  said 
he  loved  the  Queen  like  a  young  sister.  Know- 
ing the  gossip,  one  might  think  that  he  was  a 
trifle  paler  than  usual,  and  that  his  lips  were 
more  rigidly  set,  as  though  he  were  sorry  for  the 

214 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

woman,  sorry  for  the  child,  and  sorry  for  the 
double-dealing  that  here  he  could  not  bear  to 
think  of.  ... 

Then  Lady  Sunderland  appeared.  When  the 
Royal  messenger  found  her  she  was  taking  part 
in  the  communion  service  at  the  Palace  chapel. 
Her  ladyship,  whose  piety  Anne  so  diligently 
laboured  to  perpetuate,  was  loath  to  leave  the 
altar  at  such  a  moment.  She  tarried  therefore 
awhile,  determined  to  finish  her  devotions  before 
obeying  the  King's  summons.  But  again  ,a 
messenger  approached  her,  and  this  time  she 
tore  herself  away.  Perhaps  she  would  have 
been  as  well  pleased  had  they  let  her  stay  to  say 
all  her  litanies.  For  there  was  the  warming-pan 
with  its  burden  of  hot  coals  before  her  eyes,  and 
she,  for  one,  dare  not  swear  it  had  ever  cradled 
a  baby.  She  busied  herself  close  by  the  sick 
woman,  she,  Sidney's  friend,  so  that,  though  the 
Dutch  Ambassador  was  not  there,  The  Hague 
had  its  spy.  .  .  . 

How  the  Ambassadors,  who  knew  so  much  of 
the  secret  history  being  made  by  these  men  and 
women,  must  have  marvelled  that  faces  so  fair- 
seeming  could  disguise  hearts  so  dead  to  every 
finer  feeling — marvelled  perhaps  and  admired  the 
stoicism  which  united  perfect  breeding  with  the 
morals  and  courage  of  banditti  1 

One  man  was  there  whom  the  Queen  doubtless 
215 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

wished  far  away  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  for  a  moment  through  the  draperies  of  her 
couch.  It  was  Jeffreys,  the  judge  of  the  red- 
hand,  the  monster  of  the  Western  circuit.  The 
Queen  shuddered,  as  well  she  might,  for  though 
as  Lord  Chancellor  of  the  realm  he  had  a  right 
to  be  there,  yet  gladly  would  she  have  missed 
from  her  bedside  so  sinister  a  countenance.  And 
Jeffreys  !  If  he  caught  the  suffering  woman's 
horrified  glance  it  excited  not  his  sympathy 
nor  moved  him  to  shame,  for  this  hero  of  the 
judgment-seat  had  no  sympathies  and  no  shame. 
He  had  toyed  with  human  life,  and  proved  the 
hardness  of  his  heart  where  granite  might  have 
melted  away  in  pity. 

The  Queen  Dowager  entered  with  her  ladies, 
and  Mary's  attendants  made  way  that  the  elder 
lady  might  whisper  a  gentle  word  in  the  younger 
one's  ear.  Queen  Catharine  looked  round  at  the 
great  lords  and  their  dames,  she  met  their  glances 
coldly,  and  knew  them  for  what  they  were.  For 
years  they  had  been  daily  witnesses  of  her 
humiliation,  and  had  borne  themselves  with  the 
same  grace  while  they  despised  her  that  now 
they  paraded  before  this  Queen  whom  they  were 
preparing  to  betray. 

There  was  a  slight  commotion.  The  King ! 
The  rake  of  the  old  days,  the  hero  of  a  hundred 
tight  tf  loves,  was  now  a  battered  rake  indeed, 

216 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

an  old  and  careworn  man,  a  madman  from 
brooding  on  one  circle  of  ideas.  They  talked 
of  miracles,  of  signs,  and  of  wonders.  What 
miracle  like  this — that  this  gaunt  man,  with  little 
behind  him  save  sins,  and  little  before  him  save 
hard  fortune,  should  be  loved  by  the  immaculate 
young  Princess  of  Este,  the  hem  of  whose  gar- 
ment he  was  unworthy  to  kiss  ! 

The  King,  standing  amongst  his  councillors, 
stared  incessantly  at  Lady  Sunderland.  It  was 
as  though  he  were  hypnotised.  They  wondered 
why  he  stared,  stern  and  silent,  like  a  sentinel. 

A  feeble  little  cry  of  farewell  to  the  God  of  Life, 
a  cry  of  salutation  to  the  gay  world  of  Death.  .  . . 

It  was  the  new-born  babe,  and  a  brighter  light 
shone  in  every  eye,  even  in  the  eye  of  the  Judas 
and  of  the  Nero. 

Still  the  King  made  no  sign.  His  eye  was 
fixed  on  Lady  Sunderland. 

Every  instant  was  a  year  to  him.  His  heart 
stood  still.  He  ceased  to  breathe. 

Lady  Sunderland  turned  at  last,  one  finger 
pressed  to  her  brow. 

It  was  a  signal,  and  the  signal  read — "  A 
Prince  ! " 

The  tears  rushed  to  the  King's  eyes,  and,  master 
of  himself  no  longer,  he  cried  out  in  his  excite- 
ment, "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  prince,"  they  answered. 
217 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Like  one  dazed  he  heard.  They  were  con- 
gratulating him,  but  he  did  not  know  what  they 
said  or  who  they  were.  He  was  deaf  and  blind, 
for  all  his  life  was  centred  in  his  heart,  now 
bursting  with  the  joy  of  desire  fulfilled. 

The  ladies  jostled  one  another  to  see,  to  touch, 
the  precious  child,  and  then,  with  an  escort  of 
rustling  dames — Lady  Bellasyse,  Lady  Isabella 
Wentworth,  Mrs.  de  Labadie — the  Prince  was 
carried  in  state  to  his  apartments,  with  the  Earl 
of  Feversham  as  pursuivant  heralding  his  pro- 
gress. 

With  transports  of  joy  beyond  all  power  of 
expression,  the  King  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the 
Queen  and  kissed  her.  No  other  language  could 
give  form  to  his  feelings. 

And  then  he  turned  away  to  leave  the  Queen 
to  her  devoted  physician  Walgrave.  But  his 
Majesty  had  an  inspiration.  A  sword  quickly  1 
Mulgrave,  or  one  of  his  gentlemen,  drew  a  blade 
and  presented  to  the  King  the  hilt. 

"  Kneel,  Walgrave  !  "  The  sword  drops  lightly 
on  his  shoulder,  and  the  reward  of  the  loyal 
physician  was  the  accolade  of  knighthood. 

Laughing  softly  at  the  good  Walgrave's  sur- 
prise and  pleasure,  James  strode  away,  the 
happiest  man  in  Christendom. 

The  long-hoped-for,  the  long-prayed -for  one 
had  come.  The  Prince  of  Wales  filled  the  empty 

218 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

cradle,  a  link  with  the  glorious  past,  a  pledge  for 
the  future,  come  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  English- 
men. But,  Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be ! 
The  child  was  his  father's  ruin.  It  was  his  tiny 
baby  fists  that  shattered  the  empire  of  the  Stuarts. 
The  infant's  feeble  cry  raised  in  the  nursery  of 
St.  James's  was  a  call  to  war.  The  winds  caught 
up  the  challenge,  and  carried  it  over  the  sea  to 
The  Hague.  William  barkened  with  alarm  and 
wrath.  Where  were  now  his  castles  in  the  air  ! 
Yesterday,  through  his  wife,  he  was  heir  to  the 
fair  realm  of  England.  Now  he  was  a  Dutch 
Prince,  lord  of  dykes,  and  canals,  and  sturdy 
burghers,  and  that  was  all.  Oh  yes  !  One  thing 
more  !  There  was  his  sword,  tested  and  tempered 
on  many  a  famous  battlefield  of  the  Empire. 


219 


CHAPTER  XV 

as  flying  post-horses  and  the  lightest  of 
chaises  could  carry  her  one  could  fancy 
Anne  Stuart  hastening  from  Bath  to  London. 
Straight  to  St.  James's  Palace  would  the  caval- 
cade gallop,  the  people  crowding  into  the  streets 
to  cheer,  a  loyal  eagerness  that  warmed  their 
hearts ;  and  the  postillions,  proud  to  ride  before 
so  great  a  lady,  would  whip  up  their  steeds  for  a 
final  spurt,  and  with  a  joyous  "  hilloa  ! "  charge 
bravely  into  the  Palace  court-yard.  The  de- 
lighted courtiers  would  come  trooping  out  to 
meet  her,  and  radiant  with  joy  and  laughing  in 
the  midst  of  them,  the  King.  Her  voice  ringing 
with  gladness,  she  would  congratulate  her  father. 
Swift,  then,  to  the  Queen !  Impatient  for  a 
sweeter  meeting,  there  would  be  a  word  or  two  and 
an  excited  embrace  for  her  Majesty.  Away  !  Away 
to  her  brother  the  Prince  of  Wales  !  Sweet  babe  ! 
Gallant  name !  Where  ?  Where  had  they  hidden 
her  baby  brother  ?  Ah  !  There  was  the  cradle  ; 
at  last  the  precious  boy  into  whose  tiny  fists  she 
would  put  as  a  plaything  her  very  heart.  .  .  .  ' 

220 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Sadly  delusive  picture  !  Anne  brought  to  the 
cradle  a  heart  of  stone.  The  boy  had  in  truth 
no  sister. 

James  was  indeed  easily  deceived  if  during 
these  proud  days,  tinged  with  apprehension,  some 
intuition  did  not  come  to  him  that  Anne  was 
false.  Instantly  the  thought  would  be  banished, 
for  was  she  not  his  darling,  in  whom  his  fond 
eyes  would  see  no  flaw?  But,  crush  it  as  he 
would,  again  and  again  it  would  return — the 
uprising  of  reason  against  the  folly  of  a  father 
who  would  cheat  himself  with  sad  delusions. 
Jealousy  and  disappointment  such  as  maddened 
Anne  at  the  birth  of  her  brother  could  not  be 
concealed.  She  was  a  great  actress.  But  emotions 
like  these  turn  the  blood  to  gall,  and  a  smile 
there  never  was  which  came  from  such  a  heart 
but  looked  a  mockery  of  delight. 

If  Anne's  eyes  met  her  father's  he  must  have 
seen  something  in  them  which  puzzled  and 
frightened  him.  He  looked  around  for  excuses 
for  her.  She  was  ill.  The  troubled  state  of  the 
country  made  her  solicitous  for  him.  She  was 
distressed  lest  the  Prince  of  Wales  should  be 
snatched  from  them.  While  all  London  was 
ringing  with  insults  directed  against  the  King, 
the  Queen,  and  the  Prince,  James  would  have 
been  relieved  to  find  at  the  Cockpit  one  with 
whom  he  could  freely  discuss  the  troubles  of  the 

221 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Royal  Family.  But  Anne  was  preoccupied. 
She  listened,  but  he  wanted  her  to  speak  ;  and 
when  she  spoke  her  sympathy  lacked  some  note, 
he  knew  not  what,  which  would  make  it  just 
what  he  would  wish  from  a  daughter.  Yet  he 
dare  not  admit  to  himself  that  her  kindness  rang 
hollow,  that  at  the  Cockpit  too  he  was  betrayed. 
Still  trifling  with  innocence,  though  she  was  in 
love  with  sin,  Anne  wrote  to  the  Princess  of 
Orange  as  though  she  were  an  inquirer  after 
the  truth,  lamenting  the  torch  that  was  not  to 
be  found.  Thus : 

"  I  shall  never  now  be  satisfied  whether  the 
child  be  true  or  false,  maybe  'tis  our  brother  .  .  . 
where  one  believes  it  a  crowd  do  not.  For  my 
part,  unless  they  do  give  very  plain  demonstra- 
tion (which  'tis  almost  impossible  now)  I  shall 
ever  be  of  the  number  of  the  unbelievers." 

A  little  later  the  unwelcome  baby  was  ill. 
His  gentle  sister  wrote  to  The  Hague : 

"  If  he  has  been  so  bad  as  people  say,  I  believe 
it  will  not  be  long  before  he  is  an  angel  in 
Heaven." 

While  the  child's  life  hung  by  a  thread,  and 
Anne  watched  for  the  messenger  from  St. 
James's  who  would  bring  the  good  news  that 
he  was  no  more,  the  King  was  bowed  in  prayer 
in  his  oratory.  While  his  heart  bled,  he  offered 
up  to  his  Creator  the  child  who  to  him  was  the 

222 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

light  of  the  world.     Heaven  had  given  him,  and, 
if  Heaven  pleased,  let  him  be  given  back. 

"  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven, 
sobbed   the   broken   King,   shrinking   from    the 
sword  which,  like  the  blade  of  old  in  the  hands 
of  the  patriarch,  he  saw  flashing  above  the  altar. 

But  the  call  did  not  come  for  the  child,  and  so 
his  sisters  continued  to  debate  his  origin.  Mary's 
character  had  a  directness  which  one  surmises 
was  at  times  irritating  to  Anne.  About  her 
brother,  Mary  wanted  evidence.  At  The  Hague 
they  did  not  trifle.  The  logic  of  the  spoiled 
child  of  the  Cockpit  annoyed  her  sister.  Anne 
was  a  stranger  to  the  realities  of  life.  Her 
unhappy  sister  had  not  a  girlish  illusion  left. 
Anne's  mind  was  as  colourless  as  that  of  a 
village  damsel,  but  in  the  school  of  suffering 
Mary's-  mind  had  reached  the  maturity  of  a 
woman  advanced  in  middle  age.  With  a  certain 
measure  of  awe,  therefore,  Anne  received  her 
commands.  It  was  repugnant  to  the  younger 
sister  to  obey  anybody,  but  by  some  strange 
irony  of  circumstance  obedience  was  always  her 
destiny.  At  Mary's  behest  she  collected  a 
detailed  account  of  the  Prince's  birth  from  Mrs. 
Dawson,  who,  as  an  old  and  faithful  servant  of 
their  mother's,  and  a  sound  Protestant,  would 
naturally  be  a  witness  friendly  to  their  interests. 
Mrs.  Dawson's  evidence  would  be  conclusive  to 

223 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

an  impartial  mind.  But  to  Anne  the  truth  only 
meant  multiplied  confusion.  She  wrote  to  Mary 
that  she  had  questioned  Mrs.  Dawson,  but  so 
warily  that  she  might  not  betray  herself  to  the 
good  lady  as  the  devil's  advocate. 

She  had,  however,  to  guard  against  a  greater 
embarrassment  than  the  fear  lest  Mrs.  Dawson 
should  read  her  thoughts.  It  lurked  in  the 
possibility  that  the  conversation  should  be  re- 
peated to  the  Queen  as  an  example  of  the 
Princess's  sisterly  curiosity  in  all  that  related 
to  her  brother.  The  Queen  was  not  easily 
deceived.  She  would  jump  to  conclusions  which 
would  do  no  honour  to  Anne  either  as  sister  or 
daughter,  and,  sadder  still,  would  at  the  same 
time  do  her  no  injustice.  When  she  had  spoken 
to  Mrs.  Dawson,  she  wrote  to  Mary : 

"All  she  [Mrs.  Dawson]  says  seems  wonder- 
fully clear,  but  one  does  not  know  what  to  think ; 
for  methinks  it  is  wonderful  if  it  is  no  cheat,  that 
they  never  took  pains  to  convince  me  of  it." 

Some  hint  Mrs.  Dawson  probably  did  convey 
to  the  Queen  of  the  cross-examination  to  which 
Anne  had  subjected  her.  Did  the  King  hear  of 
this,  it  would  occasion  him  more  distress  than  all 
the  lampoons  of  the  scribblers  of  the  town.  From 
Orange  he  expected  double-dealing,  despite  the 
congratulations  carried  to  the  English  Court  by 
William's  accomplished  and  profligate  kinsman, 

224 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  Count  Zulestein.  Ever  pleasing  in  manner, 
but  crafty  as  the  serpent,  Zulestein  was  the  ideal 
minister  for  a  mission  which  required  him  to  be 
a  courtier  at  Whitehall  and  a  conspirator  at  the 
Cockpit  and  at  the  houses  of  the  great  nobles, 
who  were  now  beginning  to  enliven  their  treason 
with  a  spirit  of  reckless  bravado. 

Events  fostered  this  open  display  of  contempt 
for  the  Crown.  While  men's  minds  were  in  a 
ferment  in  connection  with  the  malicious  rumours 
about  the  Prince's  birth,  James  found  himself 
immersed  in  his  famous  quarrel  with  the  bishops. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  spring  of  1688  James  had 
launched  his  second  Declaration  of  Indulgence. 
Its  terms,  put  briefly,  were  that  the  King,  of  his 
own  authority,  abrogated  the  Penal  Laws.  Away 
with  persecution !  Let  no  rough  hand  of  the 
minister  of  an  unjust  law  be  stretched  forth 
between  the  Englishman  and  his  God.  Let 
there  be  an  end  to  the  centuries  of  religious 
strife.  Let  these  be  the  boons  purchased  by  the 
blood  of  the  martyrs  of  all  the  Churches,  the 
blessings  vouchsafed  the  prayers  of  all  good  men 
— Peace  and  Liberty  and  Love  ! 

It  was  a  glorious  ideal,  realised  in  another  age, 
under  another  dynasty.  But  James  was  not  the 
man,  his  methods  not  the  methods  for  the  gospel 
of  a  sublime  revolution.  He  declared  in  Council 
"  that  four  of  his  predecessors  having  attempted 

VOL.  i  225  u 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  vain  to  establish  a  general  conformity  of  wor- 
ship, the  Penal  Laws  against  Dissenters  having 
only  led  to  rebellion  and  bloodshed,  he  was  con- 
vinced that  nothing  could  conduce  more  to  the 
peace  and  quiet  of  the  Kingdom  and  the  increase 
of  trade  than  an  entire  liberty  of  conscience ; 
it  having,"  he  said,  "  always  been  his  opinion,  as 
most  suitable  to  the  principles  of  Christianity, 
that  no  man  should  be  persecuted  for  conscience' 
sake,  which  was  not  to  be  forced,  and  that  it  never 
could  be  to  the  interest  of  a  King  of  England  to 
do  it." 

Many  a  long  year  afterwards  George  II.  voiced 
the  same  sentiment  when  they  brought  him  news 
that  a  whirlwind  of  Irish  bravery  had  scattered 
the  ranks  of  England  at  Fontenoy.  In  his  wrath 
cried  George,  "  Accursed  be  the  laws  that  have 
deprived  me  of  these  gallant  soldiers  ! " 

Thus  are  kings  often  in  the  van  of  thought, 
chiefs  in  the  cohorts  of  freedom,  while  a  topsy- 
turvy fate  condemns  them  to  captain  the  machine 
of  tyranny.  James's  declaration  of  liberty  of 
conscience  marked  another  stage  on  the  road 
to  destruction. 

The  declaration  was  just,  but  it  was  illegal. 
It  was  humane,  but  illegal ;  Christian,  but  illegal. 
Always  illegal  1  That  argument  was  used  to 
demolish  the  principalities  and  powers  which 
battled  for  the  Light  in  the  days  of  Herod  and 

226 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Nero.  And  in  James's  day  the  law,  too,  pre- 
vailed. The  King  was  the  champion  of  the 
modern  ideal.  Against  him  was  arrayed  the  cold 
and  blood-stained  instrument  fashioned  by  the 
malice  of  great  men  and  the  ignorance  of  small 
ones.  "  Toleration  "  was  the  watchword  of  the 
King.  For  answer  they  invoked  the  law. 

James  thought  little  of  the  law,  because  he 
knew  the  lawmakers.  Parliament  had  during 
the  Restoration  epoch  sunk  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  corruption.  It  was  an  arena  where  victory 
rested  with  the  deep  purse,  leadership  with  the 
adept  in  the  tactics  of  bribery.  Legislators  were 
the  creatures  of  France,  of  Holland,  or  of  the 
Court.  There  were  patriots  amongst  them,  for 
no  land  can  in  any  age,  however  degenerate,  escape 
altogether  the  solicitude  of  Providence.  There 
were  honest  men  and  religious  ones  according  to 
their  lights  to  be  found  in  politics.  But  politics 
were  not  of  their  making.  The  mould  was  not 
in  their  hands.  The  law  was  to  the  highest 
bidder  in  the  mart.  The  theory  that  the  King 
can  do  no  wrong  is  still  a  legal  fiction.  But  in 
the  days  of  the  Stuarts  that  the  King  could  do 
no  wrong  was  more  than  a  legal  fiction.  It  was 
a  creed  in  which  the  Stuarts  at  least  were  fervent 
believers.  For  this  faith  Charles  I.  died  ;  for  it 
James  lost  his  Crown,  for,  like  his  father,  though 
in  pursuit  of  a  different  goal,  he  too  would  set 

227 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

himself  above  Parliament  and  its  statutes,  and 
would  be  himself  the  lawgiver.  Hence  the 
Declaration  of  Indulgence  and  the  revolt  of 
the  bishops. 

The  famous  seven  refused  to  have  it  read  in 
the  churches.  Thus  was  the  Declaration  of 
Indulgence  answered  with  a  Declaration  of  Rebel- 
lion. Now  were  the  threads  spun,  the  Fates 
ready  to  weave  a  drama  worthy  of  the  stately 
march  of  the  Shakespearian  classics.  The  rebels 
were  the  Primate  Sancroft,  Lloyd  of  St.  Asaph, 
Turner  of  Ely,  Lake  of  Chichester,  Ken  of  Bath 
and  Wells,  White  of  Peterborough,  and  Trelawney 
of  Bristol.  The  bishops  set  off  to  Whitehall  to 
petition  the  King  to  dispense  them  from  obedience 
to  his  mandate.  At  Whitehall  they  found  Sun- 
derland,  who  immediately  introduced  them  to  the 
King,  who  read  their  petition  with  wrath  he  could 
with  difficulty  govern. 

"  This,"  said  the  King,  "  is  a  standard  of 
rebellion." 

The  bishops  earnestly  protested  their  loyalty. 

"  This,"  the  King  repeated  like  a  man  dazed, 
"  is  a  standard  of  rebellion." 

Dazed  he  was,  for  he  had  stumbled  on  the  van 
of  the  army  that  was  to  destroy  him.  Here  it 
was  in  the  Council  Chamber. 

Trelawney  broke  the  painful  silence. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sire,"  he  cried,  "  do  not  say 
'  228 


so  harsh  a  thing  to  us.  No  Trelawney  can  be  a 
rebel." 

The  noble  prelate  spoke  with  deep  emotion, 
and  on  his  knees  awaited  the  King's  reply.  The 
King  was  moved,  as  well  he  might,  at  seeing  the 
bearer  of  a  name  so  illustrious  in  this  attitude  of 
profound  supplication.  But  the  gentle  impulse 
passed.  Perhaps  the  King  saw  farther  than 
Trelawney  guessed.  For,  alas  for  Cornish 
chivalry !  despite  his  gallant  words,  he  was 
"  deeply  confederate  "  with  William.  One  of 
the  songs  of  the  Revolution,  which  is  still  well 
remembered,  made  his  name  a  call  to  battle: 
such  was  the  music  inspired  by  a  chivalrous 
race,  and  such  the  magic  of  that  ancient  house 
in  the  bold  Duchy. 

After  Trelawney 's  passionate  outburst  the  pleas 
of  his  companions  were  only  the  cold  platitudes 
of  brave  but  commonplace  men. 

The  King  spoke  the  last  word. 

"  I  will  be  obeyed,"  thundered  the  Stuart,  his 
dark  brow  menacing  as  the  cliffs  of  his  native 
Scotland  when  the  purple  clouds  bring  the  sky 
down  to  the  rim  of  the  island,  and  cast  angry 
shadows  far  out  over  the  oily  black  of  the 
waters. 

The  King  spoke  truly.  The  petition  was 
indeed  a  standard  of  rebellion.  It  was  dissemi- 
nated broadcast  with  other  seditious  literature, 

229 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

some  of  which  is  attributed  to  the  brilliant, 
malignant,  but  prudent  Halifax,  who,  when 
rebellion  was  brewing,  might  coin  an  epigram  or 
point  an  argument  for  more  reckless  spirits  to 
exploit,  while  he  himself  was  content  to  enjoy 
the  serene  beauties  of  his  country  seat,  far 
removed  from  any  temptation  to  those  adven- 
tures which  might  mean  in  the  final  settlement 
of  affairs  the  loss  of  his  estates,  if  not  of  his 
head. 

What  followed  is  one  of  the  most  familiar 
episodes  in  English  history.  The  ordeal  of  the 
bishops  terminated  just  as  the  populace  were 
roused  to  frenzy  by  the  campaign  of  libel  against 
the  young  Prince  of  Wales,  not  yet  a  month 
old.  The  legal  proceedings  had  been  dilatory. 
On  the  very  eve  of  the  Prince's  birth  the 
bishops  had  been  admitted  to  bail.  This  in  itself 
was,  to  the  popular  mind,  a  victory  over  the 
tyrant. 

Affrighted  by  the  gathering  storm,  some  of 
James's  councillors  advised  compromise.  The 
birth  of  his  son  was,  they  said,  a  time  for 
conciliation,  for  clemency.  They  hinted  at  the 
golden  way  of  prudence.  They  would  make 
concessions.  They  would  move  slowly.  In 
trying  to  secure  liberty  for  Dissenters  the  King, 
they  argued,  should  try  to  avoid  infringing  the 
liberties  of  others,  even  where  these  latter  seemed 

230 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  savour  rather  of  privilege  than  of  equality. 
But  for  the  King  there  was  no  going  back. 
Those  around  him  began  to  evince  signs  of  panic. 
But  James's  will  was  hardened  to  adamant  by 
resistance. 

Now  was  he  his  father's  son  in  real  earnest. 
The  blood  of  the  race  that  would  not  be  defied 
was  up.  He  was  in  the  mood  in  which  men 
lead  a  forlorn  hope.  Not  for  worlds  would  he 
alter  the  plan  of  battle  and  have  the  odds 
reversed  which  called  for  the  courage  of  despair. 
He  would  conquer  or  die.  And  death  it  was — 
a  lingering  death,  from  a  heart  broken  by  the 
torture  of  obscurity,  of  disappointment,  of  flicker- 
ing hopes  extinguished  one  by  one.  His  was 
the  slow  agony  of  wrinkles  creeping  over  the 
face  of  a  famous  beauty,  not  the  swift  martyrdom 
which  assured  Charles  of  a  niche  in  the  Cathedral 
of  the  Pitied,  where  are  enshrined  the  memories 
of  those  consecrated  to  the  Heroic  by  the  God 
of  dramatic  Chance. 

"  Compromise,"  said  James,  "  lost  my  father 
his  kingdom  and  his  head.  I  shall  not  fall  into 
the  same  weakness." 

The  acquittal  of  the  bishops  was  assured,  for 
it  would  have  been  impossible,  without  packing 
a  jury,  to  find  twelve  men  in  the  land  who  would 
return  a  hostile  verdict.  It  was  a  drama  in 
which  the  fiercest  passions  were  aroused,  a  drama 

231 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

relieved  by  only  one  faint  gleam  of  humour. 
Amongst  the  jurors  was  Michael  Arnold,  brewer 
to  the  Palace.  Arnold  would  cheerfully  have 
escaped  to  his  vats  from  his  duty  at  Westminster 
HaU. 

"  Whatever  I  do,"  he  said,  "  1  am  sure  to  be 
half  ruined.  If  I  say  '  Not  guilty  *  I  shall  brew 
no  more  for  the  King ;  and  if  I  say  *  Guilty  '  I 
shall  brew  no  more  for  anybody  else." 

Had  James  the  nerves  of  a  gladiator  he  must 
have  trembled  now,  for  the  hour  had  come  for 
judgment.  In  his  own  courts  he  was  on  trial. 
The  bishops  stood  at  the  bar,  but  the  true  bar 
was  in  St.  James's  Palace,  and  behind  it  stood 
the  King.  Curious  he  should  find  himself  at 
that  palace  now,  for  around  its  walls  in  the  old 
days  had  often  surged  the  clamour  of  a  people 
roused  by  his  enemies  to  anger.  Again  there 
was  the  clamour,  and  this  time  the  direst  enemy 
of  the  King  was  James  Stuart  himself.  Hark  ! 
What  is  that  ?  .  .  .  Note  the  deep  flush  that  so 
suddenly  mantled  the  King's  brow.  There  it  is 
again — the  cry  of  a  child  ! 

That  feeble  wail  reminded  him  of  a  scene  at 
Westminster  half  a  century  earlier,  when  a  King 
and  his  judges  stood  face  to  face,  and  in  the  end 
the  King's  children  were  orphans,  left  to  expiate 
their  father's  folly  in  the  bread  of  exile.  Now 
what  of  his  own  son  ?  .  .  .  Would  he  ever  have 

232 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  climb  the  stranger's  staircase,  and  grow  weary 
in  his  anterooms,  pining  for  a  glance  from  the 
page-of-honour  which  would  herald  his  admission 
to  the  august  Presence  ? 

As  in  a  glass  darkly  the  King's  prophetic  soul 
must  have  seen  the  whole  panorama  of  the  infant 
Prince's  cross  :  the  home  in  a  foreign  land,  the 
hearth  where  the  fire  burned  cold  because  the 
blaze  was  fanned  by  charity,  the  sword  rusting 
in  its  scabbard,  a  Blue  Riband  of  the  Garter 
hanging  threadbare  from  its  tarnished  hilt ;  on 
the  walls  a  portrait  of  James  II.  filling  the  place 
of  honour,  and  opposite,  smiling  sadly  from  the 
canvas  on  her  husband,  Mary  of  Modena,  and 
then,  shivering  by  the  chilling  hearth,  a  care- 
worn, aged  man,  with  the  impress  of  sorrow 
lying  heavy  on  every  lineament  of  his  noble  and 
gentle  countenance.  And  this  careworn  man, 
alone  with  the  mildewed  portraits,  alone  with  his 
father's  sword,  and  his  father's  Garter,  was  the 
babe  whose  first  cry  had  echoed  through  the 
halls  of  St.  James's  ! 

Evening  fell,  the  evening  of  this  eventful  29th 
of  June.  Still  no  tidings  from  Westminster 
Hall.  .  .  .  Ministers  came  and  went.  The  King 
was  moody  and  silent,  and  with  relief  he  found 
himself  at  last  alone.  He  thought  he  had  long 
since  learned  stoicism  in  palace  and  camp,  out 
in  the  heyday  sowing  his  wild  oats,  and  in  the 

233 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

gloaming  with  his  saintly  Queen.  But  in  this 
crisis  his  self-complacency  had  deserted  him.  He 
was  growing  old  now.  He  reckoned  his  years. 
He  had  passed  fifty.  He  had  left  the  summit 
behind  and  was  facing  the  valley ;  but  as, 
growing  older,  he  marched  onwards,  a  feeling  of 
uncertainty  seemed  to  seize  him.  On  the  right, 
on  the  left — were  these  chasms,  or  were  they 
shadows  !  In  the  mist — were  these  spectres  or 
men  !  In  the  defile — were  these  death-dealing 
giants  or  trees  inviting  him  to  their  restful  soli- 
tude !  .  .  . 

Through  the  long  night  the  suspense  con- 
tinued. He  whispered  by  the  bedside  of  Mary 
of  Modena  while  her  lady-in-waiting  nodded 
over  a  book.  He  tried  to  smile  above  the  cradle 
of  his  sleeping  child.  He  prayed  in  his  oratory 
long  after  the  last  sound  of  life  had  ceased  within 
the  Palace  and  the  town  was  silent  as  the 
grave.  .  .  . 

Welcome  morning  dawned  at  last,  and,  calling 
for  his  horse,  the  King  rode  out  while  yet  his 
subjects  slept.  Across  Hyde  Park  he  spurred, 
finding  relief  from  his  aching  brow  in  the  cool 
air,  still  soft  with  the  dew.  On  past  the  villages 
of  Kensington,  and  Hammersmith,  to  the  banks 
of  the  Thames,  and  so  to  his  camp  at  Hounslow. 

The  King's  spirits  rose  as  he  rode.  His  heart 
bounded  at  the  brave  prospect.  The  river,  glisten- 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

ing  in  the  June  sun,  streamed  like  a  broad  ribbon 
of  silver  through  fields  of  green  and  gold.  Through 
rich  foliage  he  caught  sight  of  villas  nestling  on 
velvet  lawns.  In  the  deep  woods  gracious  chil- 
dren were  at  play.  The  weather-beaten  labourers 
turned  from  their  teams  to  watch  the  King  and 
his  gentlemen  ride  past.  In  the  distance  rose 
Sion  House,  the  seat  of  the  Percys,  rising  from  a 
vast  demesne.  Here  well  he  knew  every  meadow, 
for  as  a  boy  he  had  played  in  the  lush  grasses 
with  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  every  venerable 
tree  was  a  friend  that  had  lent  him  its  shade 
when  tired,  or  its  girth  to  hide  him  when  in  their 
games  he  sought  cover.  In  those  troublous  days 
the  Percy  was  custodian  of  the  Royal  children, 
and  to  the  old  grange  their  unfortunate  father 
often  rode  from  his  prison  at  Hampton  Court 
to  forget  his  anxieties  in  the  pleasure  of  their 
society.  To  these  hallowed  memories,  and  many 
another  episode  in  the  history  of  his  beloved 
England,  was  this  shimmering  green  of  park 
and  woodland  and  the  sparkling  silver  of  the 
river  a  noble  setting. 

While  the  King  was  at  Hounslow,  his  Queen 
at  St.  James's  heard  a  strange  sound  as  of  voices 
in  angry  commotion,  which  grew  louder  and  drew 
nearer,  swelling  at  last  into  a  mighty  tumult. 
The  Queen  had  no  need  to  ask  what  it  meant. 
Her  heart  told  her  the  bishops  had  been  acquitted, 

235 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  this  was  the  tide  of  a  people's  jubilation  swel- 
ling round  the  palace  of  a  defeated  King.  The 
Queen  fled  to  her  child.  Peacefully  he  nestled 
amongst  his  pillows,  unconscious  of  the  rising 
storm. 


236 


WILLIAM    III. 


p.  236. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

"   A    UT  mine  aut  nunquam  ! " 

<*»*"  The  words  were  William's.  Fire  there 
seldom  was  in  the  speech  of  the  great  soldier. 
But  a  sudden  conflict  of  emotions  warmed  him 
to  an  expression  of  brief  but  unrivalled  eloquence. 
The  chance  of  his  life  had  come.  That  "  now  or 
never,"  in  its  majestic  Latin,  was  for  such  an 
emergency  the  inspired  watchword. 

The  Orange  party  in  England  durst  not  lose 
the  advantage  given  them  by  the  events  of  the 
last  days  of  June  1688.  The  day  of  the  acquittal 
of  the  bishops  was  the  gift  of  destiny,  their  ap- 
pointed Time.  To  miss  it  was  to  lose  the  tide 
which  never  again  would  reach  the  flood.  While 
the  anger  and  enthusiasm  of  the  people  were  still  . 
therefore  at  white-heat,  an  invitation  was  sent  to 
William  to  invade  the  kingdom.  It  was  signed 
by  Danby,  Devonshire,  Shrewsbury,  Compton, 
Lumley,  Russell,  and  Sydney.  No  name  amongst 
them  stood  for  spotless  patriotism,  none  for  lofty 
statesmanship,  none  for  matchless  leadership  in 
the  Senate  or  for  proved  wisdom  in  Council. 

237 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

They  told  the  Prince  that  nineteen-twentieths 
of  the  nation  desired  his  coming.  William, 
doubtless,  knew  better  than  to  believe  them. 
But  likewise  none  knew  better  than  he  that  it 
is  the  man  and  the  occasion  that  make  a  revolu- 
tion. It  is  for  the  people  to  accept  it. 

Devonshire  and  Shrewsbury  were  the  heads  of 
families  with  an  historic  right  to  be  king-makers. 
Danby  was  an  obscure  lawyer,  who  had  won  by 
his  wits  and  his  courage  a  patent  of  nobility. 
Neither,  however,  had  sufficed  to  protect  him 
from  making  acquaintance  with  the  Tower  of 
London.  Now,  though  no  longer  young — and 
time  had  allotted  him  more  than  his  share  of 
vicissitudes — he  was  seized  with  the  gambling 
spirit,  which  makes  politics  the  most  uncertain 
of  all  sports,  the  most  crushing  in  its  defeats, 
the  most  dazzling  in  its  victories.  He  would 
risk  all,  to  lose  all  or  double  his  winnings.  In 
intellect  he  was  the  equal  of  Orange.  In  dar- 
ing, the  pale  and  worn  lawyer  could  give  points 
to  the  most  audacious  of  his  military  friends. 
But  Danby  had  no  following  in  Parliament  or 
in  the  country.  His  value  was  the  value  of  the 
man  of  brains  to  him  who  has  employment  for 
them. 

Henry  Sydney  we  know  already  as  a  dissolute 
rake,  abandoned  to  voluptuous  indolence,  charm- 
ing to  those  who  wanted  to  be  amused,  perilous 

238 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  those  who  had  aught  to  lose  which  the  splendid 
beau  might  covet. 

Compton  was  the  soldier-bishop.  He  marched 
about  the  duties  of  his  holy  office  as  though  he 
had  spurs  on  his  heels  and  a  cavalry  sabre  clank- 
ing at  his  side.  Promotion  for  him  had  come  in 
the  form  of  a  bishop's  lawn  instead  of  a  command 
in  the  army,  but  his  reverence  was  ever  more 
at  home  on  a  powerful  charger  with  pistols  in 
the  holsters  than  set  upon  his  episcopal  throne 
crowned  with  mitre  and  armed  with  crozier. 

Russell  was  of  the  family  of  the  Earls  of 
Bedford.  Like  Sydney,  he  had  once  belonged 
to  the  Household  of  James.  Like  Sydney,  too, 
one  of  his  blood  had  suffered  in  the  chastisement 
which  followed  the  discovery  of  the  Rye  House 
plot.  Most  picturesque  of  Republicans,  Algernon 
Sydney,  brother  of  Henry,  had  died  on  the 
gallows  for  his  convictions.  At  the  same  time 
judgment  had  fallen  on  Lord  Russell,  son  of  the 
aged  Earl  of  Bedford.  On  her  knees  Lady 
Russell  had  supplicated  with  tears  for  her  hus- 
band's life.  It  had  been  refused  by  Charles  II., 
for  once  marble  to  the  entreaties  of  distressed 
beauty.  Now  had  the  hour  come  when  the 
Russells  and  the  Sydneys  might  take  their 
revenge. 

Devonshire  was  already  at  war  with  the  Court, 
so  that  he,  too,  in  inviting  a  foreigner  to  invade 

239 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

his  country  was  not  free  from  the  suspicion  of 
being  moved  by  personal  antipathies.  The  noble 
Cavendish  was  as  proud  as  Louis  XIV.,  as  des- 
potic as  a  Stuart.  He  had  created  a  Court  brawl, 
in  which  his  share  could  not  be  forgiven  by  any 
king.  A  man  named  Colepepper  had  insulted 
the  Earl  at  Whitehall.  The  matter  was  reported 
to  the  King,  who  forbade  the  offender  the  Court. 
Devonshire  soon  had  reason,  however,  to  feel 
himself  slighted,  for  Colepepper  was  pardoned  by 
the  monarch  and  the  Royal  ban  withdrawn  long 
before  the  Earl  had  forgiven  the  affront. 

At  this  juncture  the  feud  was  taken  up  by  the 
Cavendish's  retainers.  They  carried  the  war  into 
the  enemy's  country,  making  a  raid  upon  Cole- 
pepper's  house  and  terrifying  his  family.  Caven- 
dish and  Colepepper  became  for  the  time  the 
Montagues  and  Capulets  of  London.  The  fiery 
Cavendish  again  went  to  Whitehall  to  pay  his 
respects  to  their  Majesties,  and  on  whom  should 
his  eye  light  in  the  drawing-room  but  the  detested 
Colepepper  ?  It  was  an  anxious  moment  for 
Cavendish's  friends.  In  the  haughty  noble's  eye 
there  was  a  significant  gleam  as  it  rested  on  his 
enemy.  Colepepper  returned  the  glare  with 
contempt — or  so  thought  Cavendish,  who  re- 
strained his  fury  in  the  Royal  presence;  but 
outside  the  storm  broke.  The  Earl,  mad  with 
rage,  clapped  his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt  and 

240 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

called  upon  the  other  to  fight.  Colepepper 
hesitated.  What  would  the  King  say  were  he  to 
draw  his  sword  and  shed  blood  under  the  Royal 
roof  ?  While  he  hesitated  the  wrathful  Caven- 
dish acted.  A  smashing  blow  across  the  face 
with  his  cane  was  Colepepper's  chastisement. 
Instantly  the  whole  Court  was  thrown  into  com- 
motion. This  was  sacrilege,  rank  blasphemy. 
A  lesser  man  than  the  Earl  of  Devonshire,  one 
of  the  most  powerful  nobles  in  the  land,  would 
have  slept  that  night  in  the  Tower.  As  it  was, 
he  was  cited  before  the  King's  Bench,  and  for  his 
enormity  mulcted  in  a  fine  of  £30,000.  Cavendish 
was  rich — but  £30,000  I  It  was  ruinous. 

Devonshire,  however,  had  an  asylum  where 
he  was  as  safe  from  the  King's  writ  as  though 
he  were  a  Highland  laird  with  a  strong- 
hold in  the  heart  of  inaccessible  wilds.  He 
retired  to  Chatsworth.  It  was  an  inviolable 
sanctuary,  for  an  enemy  of  his  house  could  only 
enter  it  at  the  head  of  a  conquering  army. 
James  wanted  his  soldiers  for  other  purposes 
than  the  pursuit  of  imperious  nobles  to  their 
castles  in  the  provinces.  If  fighting  there  was  to 
be,  it  should  not  be  with  a  tenantry,  mustering 
to  protect  the  dignity  of  their  lord  from  the 
arrogance  of  a  law  to  which  he  was  superior,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  he  was  a  Cavendish.  The 
fine  was  never  paid.  It  was  not  perhaps  intended 

VOL.    1  241  R 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

that  it  ever  should.      The   Earl's   pardon   was 
obtained  by  his  mother. 

The  venerable  lady  bore  to  the  Royal  presence- 
chamber  invincible  title-deeds  to  the  Royal 
gratitude — guarantees  of  Royal  favour  which  no 
Stuart  could  look  upon  without  emotion. 

The  Dowager-Countess  produced  bonds  for 
enormous  sums  endorsed  by  Charles  I.  and 
Charles  II.  James  looked  upon  them,  and 
though  the  might  of  England  was  at  his  back 
he  must  have  felt  a  poor  man  that  this  gallant 
race  was  not  enlisted  beneath  his  banner. 
Generous  to  their  last  piece,  loyal  to  the  last 
drop  of  blood  in  their  veins,  fearless  beyond  the 
tameless  lion  of  the  jungle,  what  might  he  not 
dare  with  this  breed  at  his  right  hand  !  Walled 
cities  should  fall,  armies  vanish,  before  the  dare- 
devil who  would  draw  the  sword  in  anger  in  the 
galleries  of  Whitehall. 

The  aged  supplicant  saw  the  King's  emotion, 
and  if  she  was  silent  it  was  because  the  word  she 
would  speak  was  a  magic  symbol,  a  talisman  to 
be  invoked,  not  for  the  sake  of  gold,  though  that 
gold  would  fill  the  Treasury.  It  was  a  word  to 
buy  the  priceless  favour  of  a  life, 

"  Gainsborough  1 " 

That  was  the  word,  the  talisman.  "  Gains- 
borough !  "  There  it  was  that  Charles  Cavendish, 
her  brother-in-law,  had  fallen,  as  behoved  one  of 

242 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

his  line,  fighting  for  the  Crown.     And  James, 
looking  upon  the  noble  dame,  remembered  ! 

Her  errand  was  accomplished.  The  Earl  was 
released  on  terms.  But  for  King  James  no 
sword  would  he  ever  unsheath.  And  worse  still 
than  the  loss  of  such  a  friend  was  the  misfortune 
that  should  have  transformed  him  into  an  implac- 
able enemy.  .  .  . 

Hither  bold  knight  of  romance  !     On  his  brow 
no    cloud   for   wrong  done,   or  for  the   future 
solicitude.     Let  the  heralds  proclaim  his  titles  to 
fame,  and  when  they  have  done  you  salute  the 
gallant,  laughing  Shrewsbury.   His  honours  were 
won  in  the  field  of  love,  amidst  the  darts  shot 
quivering  from  lovely  eyes  in  court  and  mansion, 
and  for  his  conquests  they  called  him  "  King  of 
Hearts."     A  king  has  a  code  of  his  own,  and  so 
had  His  Majesty,  Charles  Talbot,  of  Shrewsbury, 
the  twelfth  Earl.     Rich  in  hereditary  distinctions, 
in  intellect,  in  the  capacity  for  enjoyment,  his 
domain  was  the  Garden   of  Pleasure,   and   his 
creed  was  the  creed  of  that  ever-elusive  appanage. 
In  his  veins  ran  the  noblest  blood  in  England, 
spurring  him  to  gallant  deeds,  but  his  heart  beat, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  too,  because  of  a  vagrant 
strain   that  poisoned  all  the  rest  like  drops  of 
luscious,   languorous,   intoxicating   elixir.      The 
blood  of  long  generations  of  cavaliers,  ever  fore- 
most in  the  field,  ever  faithful  at  home,  mingled 

243 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  the  elegant  King  of  Hearts  with  that  of  the 
frailest  of  women,  the  beautiful  countess  of  his 
chivalrous  father. 

With  her  had  fallen  in  love  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  most  successful  of  libertines,  and 
most  audacious  too.  There  was  a  duel ;  and 
Earl  Francis  lay  dead  upon  the  field.  As  his 
eyes  glazed  and  fixed  in  death  his  Countess  stood 
by  the  Duke's  horse  in  the  glade,  clad  in  man's 
attire.  They  say  that  while  the  father  of  her 
son  expired,  the  fickle  beauty  opened  her  arms 
to  the  victorious  Duke,  and  turned  her  sweetest 
smiles  upon  one  whose  hands  were  dripping  with 
the  gore  of  the  gentleman  whom  once  she  had 
loved.  The  infant  grew  to  manhood.  He  was 
a  Shrewsbury  in  the  way  he  won  upon  men,  a 
Buckingham  in  his  conquests  amongst  women. 
His  intellect  set  off  his  engaging  manners  ;  his 
manners,  his  brilliant  intellect.  He  would  have 
conquered  more  than  hearts,  but  the  son  was  heir 
to  the  mother's  craze  for  the  wine  of  life,  for  the 
places  where  the  sunbeams  danced,  chasing  away 
the  shadows. 

His  father  was  a  Catholic.  The  young  Earl 
had,  however,  no  partiality  for  his  father's  faith. 
For  his  edification  a  disputation  was  arranged. 
When  it  was  done  he  declared  against  Rome. 
In  an  age  of  rakes  he  was  a  true  child  of  the 
age.  Handsome,  cultivated,  entertaining,  a  man 

244 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

of  the  world  and  a  man  of  taste,  William  can 
have  derived  but  small  satisfaction  from  his 
countenance.  Halifax,  Nottingham,  Godolphin, 
Rochester,  Clarendon — these  were  types  of  the 
men  the  Dutch  Prince  looked  for  as  allies,  men 
renowned  in  politics,  not  heroes  of  the  boudoir 
or  of  the  gambling  tables. 

Halifax,    however,    was    cautious     and    self- 
centred.      He  had  no  appetite  for  the  Tower, 
none  for  the  crash  of  the  battlefield.     He  had 
waved  his  hat  above  his  head  and  led  the  cheers 
when  the  bishops  were  acquitted.     That  was  the 
distance  he  would  go  to  wreak  vengeance  on  the 
King.     In  his  heart  of  hearts  little  did  he  care 
whether  William  stayed   or  came  ;   and  as  for 
leading  a  troop,  life  had  sweeter  uses  than  that 
for  the  fastidious  nobleman.     To  Nottingham  it 
was  not  a  matter  of  taste.     It  was  a  question  of 
conscience.     Nottingham's  conscience  was  one  of 
the  political  factors  of  the  day.     Happy  in  so 
rare  a  possession,  the  austere  Earl  never  permitted 
himself  to  escape  from   it.      He   balanced  the 
King's  misdeeds   against  the  King's  right,  and 
"  Don  Dismalo,"  as  they  called  him,  much  against 
his  will  decided  in  favour  of  James. 

Rochester  and  Clarendon,  whether  from  love 
or  a  sense  of  duty,  or  from  motives  of  self- 
interest,  stood  by  the  King.  Neither  owed  much 
to  James.  Having  served  him  loyally,  they  had 

245 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

been  sacrificed  through  the  duplicity  of  Sunder- 
land.  But  now,  when  the  opportunity  for 
revenge  presented  itself,  they  refused  to  set 
James's  one  act  of  folly  and  ingratitude  against 
the  friendship  and  consideration  of  years.  They 
were  for  the  King.  And  so  their  names  were 
denied  to  William's  cause.  Godolphin  likewise 
held  aloof.  He  was  false,  as  almost  all  those 
around  him  were  false.  He  wished,  when  the 
Revolution  came,  to  have  friends  in  either  camp, 
and  be  in  a  position  to  ride  with  either  when  he 
should  see  how  flowed  the  tide  of  battle.  He 
was  one  of  the  last  to  desert  James,  but  not  too 
late  to  be  unwelcome  to  William. 

And  what  of  Anne  while  the  conspiracy  moved 
to  its  climax,  and  men  spoke  in  parables,  fearful 
lest  the  walls  should  hear  ?  For  James  was  not 
a  dead  King  yet,  but  a  man  of  iron  will — the 
master  of  Jeffreys. 

Anne  at  the  Cockpit  was  passing  through 
days  the  most  anxious  in  her  whole  life.  She 
trembled  at  her  own  shadow.  At  every  key  that 
grated  in  the  lock,  at  every  bolt  shot  roughly  to 
its  socket,  her  heart  leaped  to  her  mouth.  Not 
for  the  Crown  of  England  would  she  stand  before 
the  King  with  her  perfidy  revealed.  One  spark 
of  filial  sentiment  still  flickered  in  her  heart,  and 
warned  her  that  she  would  die  of  shame  and  fear 
should  she  be  summoned  to  the  King's  presence 

246 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  see  his  face  turned  to  flint,  and  hear  herself 
denounced  as  traitress  from  lips  as  cold  as  clay. 
Hence  her  name  was  not  appended  to  the  invita- 
tion to  the  Prince. 

Rumours  of  the  warlike  preparations  proceed- 
ing in  Holland  were,  in  September,  on  every 
man's  lips.  The  King  himself,  one  of  the  last 
men  to  believe  what  was  coming,  was  no  longer 
blind  to  the  truth.  One  day  Anne  presented 
herself  at  Court  to  find  her  father  so  agitated 
that  his  distress  could  not  be  concealed. 

At  the  spectacle  of  her  father's  sufferings, 
sufferings  which  she  knew  were  but  beginning, 
some  pang  of  remorse  may  have  touched  her 
breast,  for  she  confided  to  her  uncle,  Lord 
Clarendon,  the  unhappy  plight  in  which  she  had 
discovered  him.  Clarendon  begged  of  her,  in  the 
great  calamity  which  now  overshadowed  her 
family,  to  rise  to  the  obligations  of  a  Princess  of 
England,  and  the  still  nobler  duties  of  a  daughter. 
He  implored  of  her  to  tell  her  father  what  no 
man  had  the  honesty,  the  courage,  to  tell  him, 
that  his  Crown  was  trembling  on  his  brow,  that 
in  city  and  country  the  common  talk  was  treason, 
that  it  would  need  the  valour  of  his  trustiest 
officers,  the  wisdom  of  his  own  ablest  friends,  to 
save  him  from  the  dangers  combining  to  accom- 
plish his  ruin.  Clarendon  spoke  sadly.  Hope 
was  dead  within  him,  for  who  could  save  a  king 

247 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

who  would  not  move  a  hand  to  save  himself? 
Anne  heard  with  impatience.  Clarendon  was  in 
despair,  for  Anne  was  his  last  resource.  She 
was  the  one  person  in  the  world  who,  by  her 
tears  and  entreaties,  could  have  crumbled  to 
dust  the  rock  of  the  King's  impregnable 
obstinacy. 

Perhaps  it  was  too  late  to  stave  off  ruin. 
Perhaps  the  Princess  would  have  wept  in  vain  at 
her  father's  feet.  But  a  sign  there  was  that  his 
pride  was  not  impervious  to  the  gathering  omens. 
He  ordered  the  Privy  Council  to  take  evidence 
concerning  the  birth  of  his  son,  so  that  the  truth 
might  be  put  before  the  sceptics  in  a  manner  to 
silence  unbelief.  At  the  head  of  the  Council 
the  King  waited  on  Anne  to  present  her  with 
copies  of  the  depositions.  For  a  King  thus  to 
approach  a  subject  was  a  touching  act  of  humility. 
From  a  father  to  a  daughter  it  was  heroic.  A 
nobler  woman  would  have  melted  into  tears  at 
this  act  of  self-abnegation.  Here  was  the  father 
crucifying  his  pride  to  placate  his  daughter,  in  a 
desperate  effort  to  safeguard  his  son.  The  trap- 
pings of  State  were  there  to  hide,  if  hide  they 
could,  the  insult  to  the  King  and  Queen.  There 
were,  besides  the  Privy  Councillors,  the  great 
officers  of  the  household  of  the  King  and  of  the 
Princess,  gentlemen-in-waiting  and  ladies-in- 
waiting — a  brave  audience  for  an  ordeal  which 

248 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  meanest  subject  in  the  land  might  scorn  to 
suffer  for  a  crown !  And  this  was  the  James 
who  exclaimed  that  compromise  was  the  ruin  of 
his  father,  that  unflinchingly  he  would  pursue 
the  straight  road  on  which  he  had  embarked, 
whithersoever  it  might  end.  And  Anne  accepted 
the  papers  from  the  Council  bowing  down  before 
her,  as  though  she  were  a  queen  and  that  this 
act  of  homage  were  her  right. 

What  would  not  James  have  given  at  that 
moment  to  see  her  break  through  the  cold  forms 
of  etiquette,  and  tearing  the  papers  to  fragments, 
cast  them  on  the  floor,  exclaiming  that  in  her 
heart  were  the  proofs  of  her  father's  honour,  that 
every  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins  attested  his 
truth,  that  to  offer  her  proofs  that  her  brother 
was  her  brother  was  to  heap  insult  on  the  whole 
Royal  line,  and  deny  to  her  race  one  sentiment 
of  chivalry  !  Urged  by  an  ungovernable  impulse, 
one  could  imagine  Anne  flinging  herself  into  her 
father's  arms,  and,  overcome  at  the  indignities 
heaped  upon  him,  forgetting  the  pomp  of  Court 
ceremonial  in  the  first  overpowering  grief  of 
newly  awakened  love.  But  the  King,  hungering 
for  one  word  of  unrestrained  sympathy,  heard 
this  formal  reply  from  his  idolised  Anne : 

"  My  lords,  this  was  not  necessary ;  for  I  have 
so  much  duty  for  the  King,  that  his  word  is 
more  to  me  than  all  these  depositions  !  " 

249 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Spoken  like  a  diplomatist,  Princess.  Many 
of  the  gentlemen  who  heard  you  must  have  been 
smitten  with  admiration,  for  not  Sunderland 
himself  could  have  surpassed  such  courtly 
roguery. 

The  King  and  the  Royal  procession  withdrew, 
and  Clarendon  waited  on  Anne  to  discover  the 
impression  which  had  been  made  upon  her. 
Surely  there  now  remained  no  excuse  for  sus- 
picion. But  Anne  was  silent.  She  would  not 
speak  the  truth,  yet  she  dare  not  lie.  The  de- 
positions which  had  been  handed  to  her  in  State 
were  likewise  published  to  the  world.  But  the 
world  had  already  made  up  its  mind,  and,  like 
the  King's  daughters,  would  not  be  shaken  by 
the  testimony  of  angels. 

There  came  at  this  time,  when  the  foundations 
of  the  Throne  were  crumbling  away,  another 
proof  of  James's  awakening.  Sunderland  had 
cast  a  spell  upon  James.  While  amassing 
wealth  at  the  expense  of  France,  and  conciliating 
Orange  through  his  wife,  this  superlative  actor 
was  nevertheless  the  King's  beau  ideal  of  a 
minister.  He  showered  honours  on  him.  He 
knew  him  to  be  accumulating  wealth.  It  was 
all  well-deserved,  right  trusty  Sunderland  !  But 
there  were  limits  to  the  Royal  folly.  And 
though  the  King  was  to  all  seeming  stone-blind, 
yet  there  are  things  palpable  even  to  the  blind. 

250 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

One  of  Lady  Sunderland's  communications  to 
Henry  Sydney  was  intercepted  by  an  enemy 
and  brought  to  James.  The  King  was  dumb- 
founded. The  letter  told  him  all — Lady  Sunder- 
land  was  a  spy,  Henry  Sydney  a  traitor,  and 
Lord  Sunderland.  .  .  .  What  of  Lord  Sunder- 
land  ?  The  Earl  and  Countess  were  equal  to 
their  misfortune.  The  lady  protested  that  the 
letter  was  a  forgery.  It  was  the  handiwork  of 
some  enemy  who,  jealous  of  her  place  in  the 
Royal  favour,  would  rob  her  of  both  place  and 
reputation.  The  Earl  rose  to  more  dramatic 
heights.  With  a  voice  carefully  modulated 
to  control  his  honest  emotion,  he  appealed  to 
the  King  to  remember  his  unhappy  domestic 
position. 

"  Even  if  this  is  Lady  Sunderland's  hand,"  he 
said,  "  that  is  no  affair  of  mine.  Your  Majesty 
knows  my  domestic  misfortunes.  The  footing 
on  which  my  wife  and  Mr.  Sydney  are  is  but 
too  public.  Who  can  believe  that  I  would 
make  a  confidant  of  the  man  who  has  injured 
my  honour  in  the  tenderest  point,  of  the  man 
whom  of  all  others  I  ought  most  to  hate  ?  " 

It  was  a  defence  which,  coming  from  an 
honoured  lieutenant,  the  King  did  not  care  to 
examine  too  closely.  James  said  no  more.  But 
for  Sunderland  the  beginning  of  the  end  had 
come.  In  the  general  crash  his  fall  was  to  be 

251 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  first,  but  too  late  to  check  the  consequences 
of  his  long  career  of  treachery.  One  day  he 
was  summoned  to  the  Royal  presence.  No 
letter  was  put  into  his  hands,  no  evidence  was 
adduced,  no  arguments  advanced,  no  charges 
made.  The  King  dropped  a  hint  of  disloyalty 
and  dismissed  his  minister.  That  was  all.  Sun- 
derland's  energies  were  not  paralysed  by  his 
years  of  deception.  He  still  had  the  enthusiasm 
necessary  to  a  crisis,  the  enthusiasm  which  gave 
his  lies  the  colour  of  immaculate  truth.  He 
protested,  he  reasoned ;  with  a  terrible  maledic- 
tion he  invoked  Heaven  to  bear  witness  to 
his  innocence.  If  he  had  sinned,  might  he  be 
carried  a  corpse  from  the  sight  of  the  King ! 

Like  all  men  who  trust  blindly,  James,  when 
his  faith  was  shaken,  felt  himself  doubly  a  victim, 
the  victim  of  his  betrayer  and  the  victim  of 
himself.  It  was  bad  enough  that  Sunderland 
had  sold  him.  But  not  so  bad  as  that  he  had 
sold  himself.  He  looked  back  and  saw  himself 
day  by  day  meeting  this  man  like  a  brother. 
Vain  fool  that  he  was  not  to  have  learned  the 
worth,  in  all  his  years,  of  a  handsome  face  and 
fair  words.  He  had  sat  down  to  a  banquet 
with  robbers,  and,  assuming  them  to  be  gentle- 
men, had  left  his  purse  and  his  mantle  in  the 
ante-chamber.  Purse  and  mantle  were  gone. 
They  had  risen  from  table  now,  and,  too  late,  he 

252 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

saw  through  his  comrades.  He  knew  his  lesson 
now  ;  but  in  puzzling  through  it  backwards  the 
knowledge  had  come  too  late,  for  the  flag  of 
Orange  was  already  broken  to  the  wind,  and  his 
ships  were  streaming  over  the  sea  to  England. 


253 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"TN  the  camp  of  the  King  all  slept  save  the 
-*-  sentinels  and  the  traitors,  and  the  rattle  of 
the  chains  of  the  troop  horses  picketed  in  the 
cavalry  lines  was  the  only  sound  that  disturbed 
the  silence  of  the  November  night. 

The  chivalry  of  England  were  mustered  on 
Salisbury  Plain  to  meet  an  invader.  But  when 
these  men's  fathers  were  under  arms  to  en- 
counter their  brethren  in  defence  of  King 
Charles  a  blither  spirit  possessed  them  than 
now  that  they  were  to  measure  swords  with 
a  foreign  foe. 

The  spirit  of  gloom  hovered  over  the  camp. 
No  snatch  of  merry  song  from  roystering  trooper 
returning  to  the  lines,  and  braving  in  his  cups 
the  wrath  of  the  provost-marshal,  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  lonely  night.  The  echo  of  jest 
and  prank  over  cards  and  bottle  did  not  guide 
one  to  the  tents  of  the  younger  officers.  The 
shadow  of  impending  disaster  was  everywhere 
weighing  down  the  most  volatile,  damping  the 
most  joyous  spirits.  It  was  whispered  through 

254 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  camp  that  the  King  was  ill.  He  had  been 
bleeding  copiously  from  the  nose,  and  was  so 
weak  that  he  could  not  hope  to  take  the  field  as  in 
the  brave  old  days  when  he  drew  the  sword  under 
Turenne.  And  things  more  discouraging  still 
were  whispered.  Treason  was  in  the  air.  It 
hung  like  a  miasma  round  the  army.  The  honest 
men  looked  with  doubt  upon  each  other.  They 
read  parables  into  plain  words,  and  saw  innu- 
endoes when  all  was  open  as  noonday.  Not 
so  the  rogues.  They  knew  one  another.  They 
had  sold  themselves ;  and  so  that  their  chargers 
were  safe  and  sound,  ready  for  a  dash  at  a 
moment's  warning  to  the  Williamite  lines,  they 
could  await  the  inevitable  with  equanimity. 

The  King  was  alone  in  the  episcopal  palace 
with  his  faithful  general  the  Earl  of  Feversham. 
The  table  at  which  James  had  just  supped  with 
Prince  George,  Lord  Churchill,  and  a  party  of 
his  leading  officers,  was  now  littered  with  maps 
and  papers.  But  the  maps  stared  neglected  at 
the  Sovereign  and  his  commander-in-chief.  What 
need  had  they  of  maps?  The  council  of  war 
was  over.  They  spoke  now  of  politics  rather 
than  of  strategy.  They  were  in  their  own  land, 
amongst  soldiers  who  knew  every  rood  of  the 
country.  Never  was  there  a  simpler  problem  in 
tactics  presented  to  a  monarch.  Hurl  his  troops 
against  the  enemy.  Press  home  the  attack  till, 

255 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

hand  to  hand,  Briton  and  Dutchman  wrestled  for 
victory  ;  and  if  the  gods  willed  the  battle  to  the 
stranger,  then  die  like  a  king  fighting  for  his 
Crown.  Nothing  could  be  simpler.  But  alas  ! 
heart  and  nerve  failed  the  doomed  King,  and 
the  golden  moments  given  him  for  action  were 
frittered  away. 

What  secrets  were  exchanged  that  night 
between  the  King  and  the  Earl  can  be  surmised, 
for  Feversham  had  the  true  instinct  of  a  soldier 
for  an  honest  gentleman.  And  he  knew  that 
close  by  the  Royal  pavilion  were  the  quarters  of 
a  traitor  whose  treason  was  black  as  ingratitude 
could  make  it. 

To  the  King  he  dare  not  mention  that  name. 
But  it  trembled  on  his  lips,  and  one  can  picture 
the  Sovereign's  impatience  as  he  noted  the  other's 
hesitation.  And  one  can  pardon  the  Earl's  rigid 
lips,  for  the  words  struggling  for  utterance  would 
kill  a  man's  honour — a  murder  more  atrocious  in 
the  eyes  of  a  gallant  veteran  than  a  deed  of  blood. 
From  a  chance  phrase  in  a  letter  of  the  period 
one  can  easily  reconstruct  the  scene : 

"  Speak,  man  1 "  murmured  the  King  implor- 
ingly rather  than  in  a  tone  of  command,  for 
somehow  these  latter  days  had  mellowed  the 
imperious  note  in  his  voice. 

But  Feversham  did  not  speak.  If  only  the 
King's  intuition  would  help  him  1  But  when  did 

256 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

James's  intuition  ever  help  him  to  recognise  an 
enemy?  Nothing  but  infamy  patent  to  all  the 
world  could  James  interpret  aright.  .  .  .  Fever- 
sham,  like  a  good  general,  would  try  to  escape 
from  his  difficulty  by  a  flanking  movement. 

"  There  was  Sunderland  ..."  he  would  begin. 

"  Yes,  but  Sunderland  is  in  disgrace,"  would 
reply  the  King.  "  His  power  for  evil  is  at  an 
end." 

"  Yes,  sire  ;  but  .  .  .  there  are  others  as  near 
.  .  .  more  dear,  perhaps." 

The  King  would  look  chagrined,  as  well  he 
might.  He  had  been  a  fool.  He  wished  others 
did  not  see  it  so  clearly.  But  Feversham  was  a 
good  friend,  if  a  friend  were  left  to  him,  if  friend- 
ship there  really  were,  and  he  must  not  show 
pique  at  his  candour. 

"  Speak,  my  dear  Feversham.  I  am  tired  of 
vague  hints.  ...  I  am  ill " ;  and  ill  indeed  he 
was.  The  bleeding  at  the  nose,  which  had  con- 
tinued for  three  days,  had  drained  him  of  all 
vigour,  and  left  him  for  the  nonce  a  wreck — 
hollow  of  eye,  feeble  of  voice,  more  fitted  for  an 
invalid's  retreat  than  to  give  ardour  to  an  army 
over  which  was  creeping  the  lethargy  of  despair. 

A  moment's  silence.  Then  a  name  passed 
Feversham's  lips. 

The  King  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Again  that  name  I  ...  Did  I  hear  aright  ?  " 

VOL.  i  257  s 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

"  Churchill !  "  cried  Feversham  doggedly,  in  a 
voice  that  might  be  heard  by  the  guards  outside. 

The  King  laughed  mockingly. 

"  Churchill,  my  page  of  long  ago  !  .  .  .  Gallant 
Jack  !  .  .  .  Bah  !  He  is  my  son.  I  made  him. 
As  soon  would  I  think  of  suspecting  my  daughter 
Anne." 

"I  beg  you,  sire,  to  have  Churchill  arrested. 
He  is  a  traitor." 

"  This  is  madness,  Feversham.  Your  anxiety 
about  us  has  unbalanced  your  judgment.  If 
Churchill  be  a  traitor,  then  on  Salisbury  Plain 
to-night  there  sleeps  not  an  honest  man." 

Feversham  had  served  for  many  a  year  in  the 
Royal  household,  had  risked  his  life  for  the  Crown 
on  the  battlefield,  and  now,  strong  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  loyalty,  strong  in  the 
knowledge  that  the  flight  of  brief  days  would 
prove  the  truth  of  his  words,  the  sincerity  of 
his  appeal,  he  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before 
the  King.  With  passionate  entreaties  he  begged 
of  James  to  secure  Churchill.  He  begged  as 
though  it  were  his  own  life  and  fortune  that 
were  at  stake.  But  to  all  his  prayers  there  was 
but  one  answer :  "  Of  Churchill  I  can  believe 
nothing  ill." 

Oh,  that  blind,  unreasoning  obstinacy  against 
which  nothing  could  prevail !  For  two  hours  the 
conflict  lasted,  the  battle  of  King  and  general, 

258 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  one  fighting  in  the  cause  of  prudence,  the 
other  in  the  cause  of  chivalry  and  loyalty ;  and 
in  the  end  the  King  was  as  immovable  as  ever. 

"  Of  Churchill  I  can  believe  nothing  ill.  .  .  . 
Good-night,  my  trusty  Feversham;  good-night." 

And  with  heavy  steps,  as  though  with  an  effort 
he  held  himself  erect,  the  King  dragged  himself 
to  his  bedchamber. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

The  challenge  rang  out  on  the  morning  air 
from  a  patrol  of  the  Orange  army,  which  by  now 
had  thrown  out  its  advanced  posts  to  Wincanton, 
and  scoured  the  country  with  flying  pickets  still 
farther'east. 

Along  the  road  in  the  grey  light  rode  wearily 
two  men,  whose  uniforms  and  spirited  chargers 
betokened  high  rank.  They  heard  the  challenge 
and  saw  the  levelled  muskets,  which  gave  it 
ominous  import. 

Jaded  indeed  he  was  if  the  younger  man  did 
not  laugh.  It  would  be  the  true  answer  of  his 
temperament  to  the  challenge  and  the  muskets. 
The  other  was  a  soldier,  not  a  devil-may-care 
child  of  love,  a  man  intent  on  high  enterprises, 
with  a  laugh  ready  only  when  it  had  its  proper 
place  in  the  unravelling  of  his  schemes.  He 
answered :  "  Friends  ! " 

"  Advance  and  give  the  countersign  ! " 
259 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

And  the  pair  trotted  slowly  forward.  There 
was  no  need  for  haste  now.  The  deed  was  done ; 
their  vows  were  broken.  They  were  deserters  in 
the  camp  of  the  enemy. 

During  the  night  Lord  Churchill  and  his  com- 
panion, the  young  Duke  of  Grafton — for  the 
horsemen  were  none  other — had  ridden  out  from 
Salisbury  and  sought  the  camp  of  William. 
There  Churchill  had  a  welcome  which  did  credit 
to  the  soldierly  spirit  of  his  new  comrades.  They 
made  use  of  him,  but  they  despised  him.  General 
Schomberg  received  the  distinguished  deserter 
with  a  taunt  which  would  have  killed  a  man 
of  finer  temper. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  gallant  soldier  of  fortune,  "  you 
are  the  first  deserter  of  the  rank  of  a  lieutenant- 
general  I  ever  saw  !  " 

To  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  son  of  Charles  II. 
and  Barbara  Villiers,  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  it 
was  an  amusing  adventure.  As  an  officer  he 
was  of  small  value  to  his  uncle,  and  as  little  to 
his  kinsman  of  Orange.  But  rank  and  fortune, 
a  gay  spirit,  a  sharp  tongue,  and  debonnaire 
manners  always  have  a  charm,  which,  if  they 
do  not  win  battles,  entertain  the  camp  and 
have  for  the  soldiery  a  greater  attraction  than 
qualities  more  sterling.  His  impudent  repartee 
on  an  historic  occasion  illustrates  the  easy,  careless 
temper  of  Grafton.  When  nobles  and  bishops 

260 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

petitioned  James  to  call  a  free  Parliament  and 
open  negotiations  with  the  Prince  of  Orange  the 
Duke  was  one  of  the  signatories. 

To  him  the  King  said,  "  You  know  nothing 
about  religion,  you  care  nothing  about  it,  and 
yet,  forsooth,  you  must  pretend  to  have  a 
conscience." 

"  It  is  true,  sire,"  answered  Grafton,  with  keen 
relish  of  the  joke,  "  that  I  have  very  little  con- 
science ;  but  I  belong  to  a  party  which  has  a 
great  deal ! " 

Heartily  must  Grafton  have  enjoyed  the 
humiliation  put  upon  Churchill  by  the  grizzled 
war-dog  who  commanded  William's  soldiery. 
In  the  Orange  camp  Grafton  found  a  young 
man  after  his  own  heart  in  the  person  of 
Edward,  Viscount  Cornbury,  eldest  son  of  Lord 
Clarendon,  and,  like  himself,  a  cousin  of  the 
Princess  Anne. 

The  distinction  of  having  been  the  first  deserter 
from  the  King  belongs  to  Cornbury.  He  had 
been  sent  on  to  Salisbury  with  the  van  of  the 
Royal  army  while  yet  the  King  remained  behind 
at  Whitehall.  Cornbury,  though  only  a  colonel, 
found  himself,  therefore,  by  the  connivance  of  his 
fellow- conspirators,  commanding  officer  for  a 
brief  space  of  the  King's  camp.  The  Viscount 
rose  to  his  opportunity  for  earning  indelible 
infamy.  He  paraded  three  regiments  of  cavalry 

261 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  marched  them  westwards.  The  men  were 
in  high  spirits,  going  out  to  engage  the  enemy, 
as  they  thought,  under  this  enterprising  young 
chief.  They  reached  Blandford,  then  Dorchester, 
then  Axminster. 

This  was  indeed  a  reconnaissance  which  seemed 
to  lead  far  from  Salisbury,  far  from  the  banner 
of  the  King.  The  more  experienced  officers 
began  to  feel  apprehensive.  Mustering  up 
courage,  they  approached  Cornbury,  and  begged 
to  know  whither  they  were  being  led.  Cornbury 
was  a  shallow-witted  fellow,  who  owed  all  his 
honours  to  his  relationship  to  the  Princess  Anne. 
But  his  intellect  was  spurred  to  resourcefulness 
by  his  danger.  He  explained  that  he  had  been 
ordered  to  make  a  night  attack  on  an  Orange 
post  at  Honiton. 

His  brother  officers  were  dismayed.  To  their 
military  instincts  it  sounded  a  ludicrous  affair, 
bound  to  end  in  disaster.  Cornbury  was  re- 
quested to  produce  his  orders.  That  demand 
crushed  his  daring  scheme  for  riding  into 
William's  camp  with  the  flower  of  the  Royal 
army.  He  was  glad,  therefore,  to  steal  away 
with  a  handful  of  men  to  the  Dutch  lines,  while 
the  gallant  fellows  he  had  so  nearly  betrayed 
returned  to  Salisbury  to  report  that  a  kinsman 
of  the  King  had  shown  the  road  to  the  King's 
enemy. 

262 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

When  news  of  Cornbury's  desertion  reached 
James  he  was  still  at  Whitehall.  It  was  a 
stunning  blow.  Men  who  fight  on  to  the  end 
and  win  or  die  right  royally,  kings  in  victory, 
kings  in  defeat,  kings  even  in  fetters,  are  ever 
spared  this  blow — of  all  others  the  most  over- 
whelming— of  being  betrayed  by  one's  own 
household. 

Cornbury  was  the  premier  renegade.  He  was, 
perhaps,  of  all  his  connections  held  in  the  least 
regard  by  the  King.  And  with  the  perfect 
dramatic  touch  which  Fate  alone  imparts,  the 
last  exquisite  pain  which  completed  the  agony 
was  inflicted  by  Anne,  the  dearest  of  them  all. 

A  memorable  scene  was  enacted  in  Whitehall 
when  James  heard  of  Cornbury's  treachery.  All 
the  leading  officers  then  in  London  were  sum- 
moned to  the  Palace.  Bravely  they  trooped  in, 
Churchill  and  Grafton  leading  the  way,  at  their 
heels  Kirke  and  Trelawney  and  many  others.  It 
was  a  mournful  yet  a  stirring  sight.  Handsome 
Churchill,  reckless  Grafton,  dour  Trelawney,  and 
Kirke  with  the  murderous  face  of  that  type  of 
soldier  who  knows  neither  fear,  nor  love,  nor 
pity.  His  was  a  name  to  make  men's  blood  run 
cold.  He  was  to  the  army  what  Jeffreys  was  to 
the  bench  ;  and  looking  upon  him  now  in  that 
group  of  officers  bowing  before  the  King,  one 
imagines  that  his  comrades  stand  a  little  apart 

263 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

from  him ;  not  much,  for  Kirke  was  not  a  man 
to  be  trifled  with.  But  often  in  a  hair's  breadth 
there  is  a  wide  world  of  significance. 

The  King  was  too  overcome  for  a  moment  to 
speak  ;  but  when  he  recovered  command  of 
himself,  deep  feeling  moved  him  to  strike  a  note 
of  Royal  chivalry. 

Was  there  amongst  them  any  man  who,  for 
conscientious  reasons,  was  averse  to  drawing  the 
sword  in  his  service  ?  Then  let  him  resign  his 
commission.  Sorry  he  would  be  to  lose  a 
gentleman  amongst  them  all.  But  they  had 
reached  a  stern  pass.  Before  taking  another 
step  let  them  be  blunt  Englishmen,  and  fair  as 
man  to  man.  If  they  would  choose  a  road  that 
was  not  his,  then  let  them  do  so.  But  as 
English  gentlemen,  as  English  cavaliers,  in  the 
name  of  God  let  them  be  worthy  of  their  blood, 
of  their  cloth,  of  their  country.  .  .  . 

Rising  to  his  full  height,  throwing  back  his 
head,  glancing  over  them  with  something  of  the 
fire  of  his  soldierly  youth,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  As  gentlemen,  as  soldiers,  I  adjure  you  that 
there  be  no  other  Cornbury  !  " 

Then  up  spoke  Churchill.  He  would  shed  the 
last  drop  of  his  blood  for  his  master ;  and  he 
turned  to  his  companions  as  though  he  would 
challenge  one  amongst  them  to  forswear  his  true 
allegiance. 

264 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Grafton  repeated  the  challenge  in  his  own 
audacious  way.  He,  too,  would  die  for  the 
King  his  uncle. 

The  other  traitors  were  not  less  bold  in  their 
deception.  They  all  protested  their  devotion  to 
their  Sovereign.  Heaven  heard  it  all  and  saw 
their  hearts,  and  not  one  amongst  them  dropped 
dead  with  the  lie  on  his  lips  as  a  warning  to  his 
companions. 

And  then  they  trooped  out  as  bravely  as  they 
had  come,  to  take  the  road  to  Salisbury,  the 
straight  road,  as  we  have  seen,  to  the  camp  of 
Orange. 

At  the  defection  of  Churchill  the  unhappy 
King  was  smitten  with  panic.  Churchill,  the 
ablest  of  his  captains,  the  young  friend  he  loved, 
was  a  host  in  himself.  Immediately  he  ordered 
a  retreat,  and  retired  to  Andover.  There  he 
supped  with  Prince  George  and  the  young 
Duke  of  Ormonde. 

It  was  a  funereal  meal,  for  the  guests  were 
pledged  to  betray  the  man  with  whom  they  were 
breaking  bread.  The  King  spoke  of  traitors 
and  treachery.  It  was  the  topic  of  the  hour. 
Nothing  was  so  urgent  or  so  opportune.  Of 
Churchill,  perhaps,  he  could  not  speak.  The 
name  would  choke  him.  But  if  it  never  passed 
his  lips,  one  may  be  sure  it  haunted  his  aching 
brain.  From  Grafton  better  could  not  be 

265 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

expected.  The  Stuart  blood  ran  in  his  veins. 
But  in  his  veins,  too,  there  ran  the  Villiers 
strain,  for  his  mother  was  the  kinswoman  of 
the  tribe  who  gave  to  the  Orange  household 
Elizabeth,  and  to  the  Cockpit  Lady  Fitz- 
harding. 

But  if  the  King's  thoughts  turned  to  persons 
whose  names  he  would  not  utter,  he  could 
dissemble  his  torture  by  diverting  the  conver- 
sation to  the  Princess  Anne,  lonely  but  faithful 
in  the  great  wilderness  of  Whitehall  with  the 
unhappy  Queen. 

While  they  supped  from  time  to  time  a  courier 
arrived  from  the  army,  always  with  the  same 
tidings.  It  was  not  that  English  blood  had  been 
spilled  in  some  desperate  fight ;  it  was  not  that 
his  best  friends,  his  familiar  comrades,  had  fallen. 
That  was  grief  reserved  by  fate  for  happier  kings 
than  James.  The  news  was  always  worse  than 
death — always  treachery!  One  was  gone,  and 
another,  and  another,  until  it  looked  as  if 
Whitehall  had  been  transferred  to  the  Orange 
camp. 

The  King  was  perhaps  too  ill  to  realise  what 
all  this  meant.  There  comes  a  time  when  some 
anodyne  of  Nature  numbs  the  heart  to  pain  and 
blunts  the  intelligence. 

The  King  and  Ormonde  heard  the  news  in 
gloomy  silence.  But  not  so  Prince  George. 

266 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

What  elfish  sprite  tempted  the  foolish  man  to 
talk  that  night  ?  The  King  did  not  expect  it 
from  him.  Neither  his  wit  nor  his  wisdom  was 
of  the  order  to  make  them  eager  for  his  words. 

"  Est-il  possible  ?  "  was  George's  comment  as  a 
traitor's  name  was  announced,  like  a  visitor  to 
some  strange  levee. 

"  Est-il  possible  ? "  he  repeated  again  and 
again. 

So  the  solo  went  on,  always  on  the  same  note, 
growing  farcical  in  its  inane  monotony  at  the 
supreme  moment  when  a  dynasty  was  tottering 
to  its  final  collapse. 

A  shadow  of  a  smile  flickered  on  the  King's 
ashen  lips  at  this  parrot-cry  of  sympathy  famine- 
stricken  for  words.  He  seldom  smiled  now.  He 
had  forgotten  how  to  laugh.  But  this  was 
surpassingly  ridiculous.  It  was  droll  enough  to 
set  a  man  of  steady  nerves  and  bounding  pulse 
and  clear  brain  into  roars  of  laughter.  The 
King  looked  at  Ormonde.  His  Majesty  could 
not  preserve  a  straight  face.  In  presence  of 
such  a  comical  effusion  of  sympathy  men  of 
sense  were  brothers,  linked  by  the  freemasonry 
of  a  common  appreciation  of  the  grotesque,  and 
Ormonde  smiled  too. 

At  length  the  mourning  feast  was  over.  The 
King  rose,  and  with  a  subdued  but  kindly 
"  Good-night "  to  his  faithful  friends,  all  the 

267 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

more  precious  because  so  few  remained,  he 
retired. 

Again  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs. 

What  was  that  ?  A  courier  perhaps.  But 
James  was  too  weary,  too  broken  in  spirit  to 
inquire.  He  was  ill  and  tired.  Nothing  mattered 
much.  There  was  no  urgency  about  anything. 
It  was  all  for  a  Crown,  and  of  what  value  was  a 
Crown  !  .  .  .  He  slept  at  last,  this  sorely  tried, 
heart-sick  King,  and  with  the  sun  awoke  from 
his  troubled  slumber.  Then  they  told  him. 

Ormonde  was  gone,  and  with  him  the  husband 
of  his  beloved  Anne. 

Then  the  King  made  the  only  jest  of  these 
days  of  wrath. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  "'  Est-il  possible  V 
gone  too  ! " 


268 


From  a  tihotograuh  by  Kmery  Walker,  after  the  painting  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery 
by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller. 


JAMES  II. 


p.  268. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

T  NTO  St.  James's  Park  at  dead  of  night  strode 
««•-  two  men  equipped  for  riding,  as  one  might 
see  despite  the  heavy  cloaks  drawn  closely  around 
them  as  protection  from  the  rain,  which  came 
pelting  down  in  blinding  sheets. 

At  Charing  Cross  they  had  left  their  hackney 
coach  to  make  this  adventure  into  the  pitch  dark- 
ness of  the  Park,  which  at  this  hour  was  none  too 
safe  for  lonely  excursions ;  nor  in  such  weather 
was  it  any  too  pleasant,  for  its  avenues,  lashed  by 
the  storm,  were  cut  into  quagmires,  in  which  the 
cloaked  pedestrians  sank  over  the  ankles  of  their 
riding-boots. 

Without  a  word  they  trudged  on,  until  right 
before  them  appeared  in  silhouette  the  Palace 
of  Whitehall.  Then  they  halted,  and,  taking 
shelter  as  well  as  they  could  beneath  a  tree, 
watched  the  Royal  Palace,  whose  outlines,  un- 
relieved by  a  solitary  light,  were  traced  through 
the  blackness  like  a  vast  palace  of  mystery. 

Soaked  almost  to  the  skin  from  the  drenching 
storm,  and  chilled  to  the  bone  from  standing  in  the 

269 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

mire,  they  had  no  imagination  for  the  romance 
of  the  scene  in  which  they  found  themselves. 
There  was  no  glamour  for  them  in  the  inky 
sky,  from  which  battlements,  towers,  and  gables 
seemed  suspended,  the  guardian  ramparts  of  a 
city  where  darkness  and  silence  for  ever  reigned, 
where  life  was  a  dream  and  sound  there  was  none. 

"  A  light !  Thank  Heaven  !  ...  It  is  a  signal," 
would  exclaim  one. 

"  Thank  Heaven  ! "  would  repeat  the  other. 

The  rain  came  pelting  down  more  fiercely  than 
ever,  imparting  fervour  to  their  gratitude. 

The  welcome  light  flickered  in  the  Cockpit. 
It  was  a  signal  that  the  vigil  was  nearly  ended. 

The  light  appeared  and  disappeared  and  re- 
appeared. To  those  who  could  read  the  sign  it 
told  its  own  tale  as  it  flashed  from  the  windows 
of  the  Princess  Anne's  private  apartments  into 
the  blinding  storm  without.  It  told  of  an  ex- 
cited mistress  just  risen  from  her  couch  trembling 
and  expectant,  of  flurried  ladies-in-waiting  racing 
to  and  fro  for  this  thing  so  treasured  and  for  that, 
all  the  while  with  everybody's  heart  in  every- 
body's mouth,  fingers  twitching  with  nervousness 
too  great  for  nimble  obedience,  and  feet  more  rest- 
less than  efficient  in  the  haste  of  breathless  agitation. 

The  two  men  listened  intently.  The  wind 
hurtling  through  the  trees,  and  the  rain  splash- 
ing on  withered  and  soddened  leaves,  deadened 

270 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

every  sound.  They  thought  they  heard  faintly 
the  treble  of  women's  voices.  A  door  opened  at 
last.  Now  they  were  sure  their  hearing  did  not 
deceive  them,  because  they  could  see  the  panel 
of  light,  the  only  bright  thing  against  the  con- 
fused tumuli  of  blackness.  A  lady  stepped  into 
the  luminous  panel.  It  was  a  figure  gracious 
enough  to  cheer  the  watchers  out  in  the  inhos- 
pitable night.  It  was  the  Princess  Anne.  They 
might  have  seen  her  shiver  as  the  rain,  caught  up 
by  the  storm,  was  driven  into  her  teeth,  one  gust 
almost  saturating  her  light  attire ;  for,  unused  to 
such  adventures,  Anne  had  thought  more  of 
appearances  than  of  the  most  suitable  raiment  in 
which  to  brave  a  November  storm.  Into  the 
light  from  outside  the  threshold  stepped  two 
other  ladies ;  they  carried  cloaks  and  wraps, 
and  hastily  they  enfolded  the  Princess  more 
securely  against  the  night.  Then  the  lights  went 
out.  The  watchers  knew  the  door  was  closed, 
and  that  the  King's  daughter  had  begun  her  flight. 
Descending  the  flight  of  private  stairs,  which 
some  time  before  Anne  had  caused  to  be  erected 
from  her  private  apartments  into  the  Park,  and 
accompanied  by  Lady  Churchill,  the  latter 's  maid, 
and  Lady  Fitzharding,  the  Princess  hurried  for- 
ward to  the  assignation.  At  the  same  time  from 
out  of  the  shelter  of  the  trees  advanced  the  two 
cavaliers.  They  threw  back  their  cloaks  and 

271 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

raised  their  laced  hats,  revealing  themselves  as 
Compton,  Bishop  of  London,  and  Charles  Sack- 
ville,  Earl  of  Dorset. 

It  was  no  time  for  compliments.  Whitehall 
still  held  trusty  servants  of  the  King.  Even  in 
the  Cockpit,  not  many  yards  away,  there  were 
men  and  women  who  if  they  knew  of  the  treachery 
afoot  would  alarm  the  Palace,  and  Anne  would 
find  herself  a  prisoner,  where  an  hour  or  two 
before  she  had  been  little  less  than  a  Sovereign. 
With  whispered  words  the  party  turned  their 
backs  upon  the  Cockpit  towards  Charing  Cross. 

It  was  a  short,  forced  march,  but  a  rough  one. 
At  every  step  they  sank  over  their  ankles  in  the 
soft  earth.  The  Princess's  spirits  rose  with  the 
excitement  of  this  novel  battle  with  wind  and 
rain  as  she  followed  in  the  steps  of  all  the  Royal 
ladies  who,  down  along  through  the  centuries, 
had  crept  at  night  from  their  bowers  to  win  a 
page  in  the  annals  of  romance. 

Struggling  forward  more  vigorously,  talking  a 
trifle  more  loudly  as  the  distance  between  them 
and  the  Palace  increased,  the  Princess  at  last  met 
with  a  mishap  which  for  a  moment  was  as  though 
the  skirmishers  of  an  army  had  been  driven  back 
on  the  main  body.  The  advance  was  checked. 
A  council  of  war  was  held,  for  the  Princess  had 
lost  a  shoe. 

Oh,  dear  1    Oh,  dear  !  where  was  that  shoe — a 
272 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

beautiful  high-heeled  shoe,  lined  with  silk,  with 
tapering  instep,  and  dainty  toe  embroidered  with 
deft  stitching  ?  Oh,  yes,  here  it  is  !  But  alas  ! 
no  longer  a  dainty  shoe,  for  the  high  heel  is  gone, 
buried  away  somewhere  in  the  mire  of  the  Park  ; 
and  if  this  is  silk  lining  it  no  longer  glistens  with 
the  fine  lustre  given  it  by  some  famous  loom  of 
Lyons,  for  the  inside  is  full  of  the  damp  clay  that 
made  captive  the  heel.  It  is  a  worthless  shoe, 
save  as  a  relic  to  some  courtier  who  knows  his 
courtly  trade,  or  to  a  gallant  who  would  sell  his 
life  for  such  a  thing,  though  mayhap  he  would 
prefer  a  piece  of  ribbon  fresh  and  gay  or  a  scrap 
of  filmy  lace. 

Down  poured  the  rain  ;  but  if  ever  wit,  and 
gallant  and  haughty  gentleman  was  superior  to 
the  batteries  of  unkind  fortune  it  was  Charles 
Sackville.  Amongst  the  men  who  had  been 
sparkling  blades  of  the  Restoration  Lord  Dorset 
stood  alone.  In  the  school  of  profligacy  he  at 
least  had  learned  something.  When  his  devoirs 
had  been  paid  to  vice  and  frivolity,  he  remained 
superior  to  his  follies.  Sydney  was  a  rake  to  the 
end.  James  was  the  victim  of  an  eternal  war,  in 
which  his  soul  was  alternately  ravaged  by  angels 
and  demons.  Sunderland  grew  into  a  gambler 
noted  for  his  greed,  Talbot  into  a  bully,  Jermyn 
into  a  place-man,  and  so  on  with  all  that  rattling 
company. 

VOL.  i  273  T 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  Dorset,  if  he  did  not  himself  learn  to 
be  wise,  learned  to  value  wisdom  and  to  appre- 
ciate it.  His  sins  were  stepping-stones  to  grace ; 
and  Dorset  as  a  fellow  of  years  and  sense  was, 
unlike  his  early  associates,  more  charming  than 
in  the  days  when  he  beat  the  watch  and  laid 
siege  to  the  heart  of  Mistress  Nell.  For  Nell 
Gwynne  loved  Charles,  Earl  of  Dorset,  before 
she  won  her  meed  of  the  Merrie  Stuart's  abound- 
ing affections.  And  grateful  for  patronage  which 
advanced  her  fortunes,  as  poor  Nell  understood 
the  term,  she  always  called  him  her  "  Charles  the 
First."  This  was  long  ago,  however.  Dorset  was 
no  longer  the  bold  and  wicked  knight  of  Nell's 
riotous  novitiate  to  fame.  He  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  to  whom  a  runaway  princess  might  safely 
entrust  her  honour,  even  if  a  bishop  were  not  by 
to  bless  and  countenance  her  confidence. 

But  the  Princess  has  one  foot  unshod  I  Poor 
Anne  !  a  sorry  portrait  of  dignity  you  present  in 
the  pitch  dark  amidst  the  mire  of  St.  James's 
Park  under  the  walls  of  Whitehall,  with  the 
clouds  wide  open  pouring  on  your  foolish  head 
torrents  of  rain.  With  a  hand  on  Dorset's  arm 
she  hopped  along  on  one  foot.  Dorset  laughed. 
His  lordship  had  a  perfect  appreciation  of  the 
ridiculous.  He  would  have  laughed  if  it  were 
a  funeral  procession.  It  was  delicious.  Anne 
hopping  the  whole  way  from  the  Palace  to 

274 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Charing  Cross  would  make  the  occasion  a  memor- 
able pilgrimage.  They  were  all  wet  to  the  skin 
already.  With  Anne  setting  the  pace  they  would 
however  have  time  to  get  dry,  supposing  the  storm 
abated,  before  reaching  their  destination.  Anne 
laughed  too.  In  her  mirth  there  was  perhaps  a 
hint  of  hysteria.  But  the  Earl,  thankful  for  the 
mood,  encouraged  it.  Through  the  storm  Sarah 
Churchill,  trudging  angrily  behind,  could  perhaps 
hear  a  monologue  something  of  this  kind  delivered 
with  playful  spirit : 

"  Well  hopped,  madam !  .  .  .  Mind  that 
pool.  .  .  .  Egad,  you're  into  it  right  up  to 
your  knees.  .  .  .  Ahem !  ankles !  .  .  .  Put 
spring  into  it,  madam.  .  .  .  Lean  on  me.  .  .  . 
Well  over,  indeed  !  That  was  a  yawning  gulf. 
.  .  .  The  other  shoe  gone.  .  .  .  The  Lord  split 
me,  but  I  never.  .  .  .  Your  shoemaker  is  a 
Papist,  I'll  pledge  my  oath.  .  .  .  Here's  a  hole, 
madam,  deep  enough  to  bury  a  bishop.  .  .  . 
Where's  your  waist,  madam  ?  ...  In  this  infernal 
darkness  one  can  see  nothing  pleasing.  .  .  . 
Pardon  my  arm,  but  this  is  a  chasm  to  be  taken 
flying.  .  .  .  Now  for  the  hop  of  your  life. 
There!" 

A  little  scream  from  Anne.  The  hop  of  her 
life  was  a  failure. 

"  La,  madam,  what  is  it  ?  "  and  Sarah,  hurry- 
ing to  her  mistress's  side,  would  glare  at  Dorset, 

275 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

for  her  soaking  garments  would  not  assist  the 
termagant  lady-in-waiting  to  laughter.  But  there 
was  the  warlike  bishop  ready  with  his  pistols  for 
any  villain  who  might  dare  to  interrupt  their 
progress. 

There  was,  however,  no  villain  in  this  comedy, 
at  least  none  that  the  bishop  could  recognise. 
Following  the  Princess's  eyes,  they  saw  her  shoe- 
less foot  cased  in  a  miry  silk  stocking,  and  the 
whole  company — even  Sarah's  waiting-maid  in 
the  background — joined  in  a  sympathetic  "  Oh, 
madam  ! "  Dorset  leading  the  chorus  in  a  voice 
blended  of  pity  and  merriment. 

Anne's  shoeless  foot  was  not  only  wet,  it  was 
getting  a  mud  bath.  The  Earl  was  on  his  knee 
in  a  moment.  The  dainty  foot  with  the  dripping 
wet  stocking  of  silk  stained  with  the  soddened 
earth  was  made  captive  by  the  gallant  Dorset, 
who  substituted  his  long  leathern  glove  for  the 
vagabond  shoe. 

Now  was  Anne  equipped  for  the  march,  and 
all  etiquette  being  banished  by  this  piece  of 
comedy,  the  Earl,  half  carrying  the  Princess, 
they  hurried  forward  to  Charing  Cross.  There 
the  ladies  were  bundled  into  the  coach,  and, 
accompanied  by  Dorset  and  the  bishop,  they 
were  driven  to  Aldersgate  Street,  where  Compton 
had  his  private  house.  The  City  was,  however, 
too  near  to  Whitehall  to  be  an  agreeable  place  of 

276 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

sojourn.  The  bishop's  house  was  a  convenient 
station  at  which  to  get  a  little  refreshment  and 
rest,  and  what  was  still  more  urgently  needed, 
a  change  of  attire.  When  they  again  took  the 
road  Compton  was  no  longer  the  cloaked  ecclesi- 
astic. All  disguise  was  thrown  off,  and  in  buff- 
coat,  jack-boots,  and  broad-sword  he  was  again 
the  life-guardsman,  military  chief  of  the  little 
party  which  now  set  out  for  Copt  Hall,  Dorset's 
seat  in  Waltham  Forest.  The  Princess's  destina- 
tion was  Nottingham.  The  greater  portion  of 
the  journey  was  made  on  horseback.  Haste  was 
everything,  and  a  journey  by  coach  over  the 
roads  of  the  period  could  not  be  accomplished 
at  a  speed  which  would  allay  the  Princess's 
apprehensions.  The  only  alternative  was  to  ride 
on  a  pillion  behind  a  gentleman,  horses  being 
hired  along  the  road  as  the  party  required  them. 
A  famine  in  horseflesh  seems  to  have  fallen  at 
this  time  on  Leicester.  Not  a  steed  in  the  town 
could  be  found  to  carry  cavalier  and  lady.  This 
was  nearly  as  bad  as  that  other  check  in  St.  James's 
Park,  when  the  storm  left  her  barefoot,  and  the 
situation  was  only  saved  by  Dorset's  good- 
humoured  gallantry.  Now  there  came  to  the 
rescue  a  very  different  type  of  cavalier.  Of 
all  the  chivalry  of  the  good  town  of  Leicester 
the  Bayard  was  a  mercer,  and  Bayard's  fat 
grey  mare,  broad  of  back,  short  of  limb, 

277 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

large  of  head,  and  very  sober,  was  the  steed 
offered  for  the  Royal  service.  Mettle  the 
Princess's  palfrey  had  none.  But  the  mercer's 
simple  and  sturdy  rule  had  taught  her  ways  more 
sagacious  than  were  ever  the  dowry  of  a  mare  of 
purest  Arab  blood.  When  the  time  came  for  her 
to  be  burdened  she  made  obeisance  on  her  knees, 
and  in  this  position  waited  for  gentleman  and 
Princess  to  mount.  The  mercer  was  so  corpulent 
he  could  get  into  the  saddle  in  no  other  way. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  a  peculiarity  which  had 
hitherto  been  the  occasion  of  much  amusement 
to  the  apprentices  of  Leicester,  and  of  irritation  to 
the  prosperous  mercer,  became  now  a  reason  for 
loyal  pride  to  himself  and  his  family,  while  it 
justified  the  everlasting  malignity  of  slimmer 
citizens,  whose  lean  hacks  had  robbed  their 
masters  of  a  place  in  history. 

At  the  rendezvous  at  Nottingham  Anne  found 
herself  the  centre  of  a  group  of  prominent  noble- 
men and  gentlemen,  all  eager  to  secure  her  favour, 
to  which  they  now  attached  a  degree  of  worth, 
more  gratifying  to  the  Royal  lady's  vanity  than 
to  their  own  acumen.  This  would  apply  rather 
to  the  country  gentlemen  than  to  noblemen  like 
Northampton,  Devonshire,  and  Chesterfield,  who 
here  welcomed  the  fugitives.  Some  of  the  simpler 
folk  may  even  have  imagined  that  the  turmoil 
was  to  end  in  Anne  becoming  the  Sovereign. 

278 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  militia  and  yeomanry  gathered  round  her 
with  enthusiasm,  and  it  was  with  a  considerable 
military  force  that  she  continued  her  adventures. 

It  was  a  triumphal  progress  from  Nottingham 
to  Leicester.  But  on  the  Princess's  return  to 
the  friendly  mercer's  town  an  incident  occurred 
which  gave  to  the  army  a  sullen  princess.  It 
took  place  in  the  Princess's  drawing-room. 
Compton,  in  the  presence  of  Anne,  and  in  the 
hearing  of  all  the  gentlemen  present,  called  upon 
Chesterfield  to  attend  a  meeting  in  the  afternoon 
in  the  service  of  Her  Highness. 

"  I  am  here  to  protect  the  Princess,"  replied 
Chesterfield  in  effect,  "  but  I  must  beg  not  to  be 
publicly  summoned  to  conferences  without  having 
first  been  consulted  privately  in  the  matter." 

Devonshire,  who  stood  by,  took  upon  himself 
to  answer  Chesterfield. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  that  Lord  Chesterfield 
had  been  previously  acquainted  that  the  purpose 
of  the  Princess  was  to  have  an  association  entered 
into  to  destroy  all  the  Papists  in  England  in  case 
the  Prince  of  Orange  should  be  murdered  by  any 
of  them." 

Every  eye  there  was  turned  on  Devonshire, 
Chesterfield,  and  Compton.  The  soldier-bishop, 
purple  with  rage,  was  ready  to  fell  his  adversary, 
and  only  restrained  his  anger  out  of  deference  for 
her  in  whose  presence  he  had  excited  this  quarrel. 

279 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

A  sneer  curled  Devonshire's  lips.  If  James 
was  the  first  to  suffer  the  loss  of  his  head  through 
such  an  association,  so  much  the  better.  He  had 
patronised  Colepepper,  and  a  Cavendish's  mal- 
evolence, if  slow  to  be  aroused,  was  not  quickly 
assuaged.  Chesterfield,  calm  and  stern,  spoke 
with  ease  and  deliberation.  His  mind  was  made 
up.  He  would  not  join  a  murder  society.  He 
was  for  the  Prince  of  Orange.  He  had  been 
bred  up  with  the  Prince.  He  knew  him,  he 
would  dare  aver,  better  than  any  gentleman  in 
that  room,  and  he  knew  him  to  be  a  gallant 
soldier  who  would  find  an  organisation  for 
massacring  innocent  citizens  little  to  his  fancy. 

"  And,"  concluded  Chesterfield,  "  I,  at  all 
events,  shall  none  of  it." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  this 
proposal,  which,  made  in  cold  blood  in  the 
presence  of  the  Princess,  takes  one's  breath  away. 
Anne  seems  to  have  heard  it  with  approval. 
With  open-eyed  astonishment  that  levee  of 
English  gentlemen  looked  from  Anne  to  Caven- 
dish, Cavendish  to  Compton,  Compton  to 
Chesterfield.  They  could  not  believe  their 
senses.  They  were  not  out  for  murder.  They 
were  soldiers,  they  hoped  they  were  patriots. 
Catholic  gentlemen  were  their  friends,  ate  at 
their  tables,  rode  with  them  in  the  chase.  Many 
of  them  had  Catholic  kinsmen.  All  of  them  had 

280 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

a  Catholic  king.  Assuredly  they  did  not  want 
to  shed  the  blood  of  Papists  save  in  a  fair  field,  as 
behoved  the  sons  of  cavaliers.  Almost  to  a  man 
they  were  with  Chesterfield,  and  the  infamous 
proposal  perished  of  contempt. 

Very  angry  with  the  noble  friend  of  the  Prince 
of  Orange,  who  had  baulked  her  in  this  enterprise, 
Anne  set  out  for  the  country  in  possession  of  the 
invaders,  where  Prince  George,  well  satisfied 
with  the  success  of  the  plans  they  had  matured 
at  the  Cockpit,  looked  for  her  coming. 

And  now  let  us  return  and  find  the  Cockpit  on 
the  morning  following  Anne's  flight,  with  the 
dreary  Park  all  leafless  and  draggled  after  the 
lashing  of  the  storm. 

The  dripping  trees  spread  their  arms  to  the  late 
autumn  sun.  Through  the  miry  avenues  pedes- 
trians came  and  went.  In  and  out  through  White- 
hall wandered  couriers,  and  officers,  and  loungers. 
The  King  was  away  in  his  camp,  at  the  head  of 
his  soldiers,  and  a  spirit  of  listlessness  pervaded  a 
scene  where  usually  all  was  bustle  and  animation. 

Suddenly  a  woman's  screams  rang  out  over  the 
Palace  gardens.  The  screams  grew  louder.  The 
voices  multiplied.  It  was  not  a  frightened  maid. 
It  was  not  a  wench  startled  by  a  mouse  or  a 
mischievous  page.  Scream  followed  scream.  It 
was  a  panic.  It  was  a  fire  in  the  Cockpit,  or 
murder,  or  worse  or  ... 

281 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

How  the  loungers  rushed  to  this  festival  of 
excitement,  and  for  a  rich  reward  ! 

Ladies  in  tears,  with  toilets  all  disarranged, 
raced  from  the  Cockpit  and  shrieked  like 
creatures  possessed  as  they  flew  towards  the 
Royal  apartments.  Like  mad  women  they  ran, 
wringing  their  hands,  their  yells  ringing  through 
the  alleys  and  across  the  courts  and  lawns. 

"  The  Princess  !  .  .  .  Oh,  the  Princess  !  .  .  .  the 
Princess  ! "  they  cried.  The  soldiers  on  guard 
dashed  towards  the  Cockpit,  Lord  Craven  at  their 
head,  sword  in  hand.  But  there  was  no  assassin 
to  slay  while  Royal  blood  still  dyed  his  hands, 
no  conspirator  to  arrest.  It  was  only  that  the 
Princess's  chamber  was  empty.  And  his  lord- 
ship could  only  question  the  sentinels  as  to  what 
they  had  seen  or  heard.  While  he  asked  questions 
a  hundred  lying  rumours  had  already  spread 
through  London.  The  libellers  had  for  months 
previously  educated  the  people  to  believe  that 
Mary  of  Modena  struck  the  King.  Now  they 
said  that  her  violence  had  driven  Anne  from  the 
Palace,  that  this  unhappy  English  Princess  was 
an  outcast  because  of  the  firebrand  Italian.  The 
women  put  their  heads  together  and  nodded  and 
whispered. 

"...  Soon  to  become  a  mother,"  one  might 
be  heard  to  say. 

"  Poor  Anne  ! "  another  would  reply,  "  to  be 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

left  at  such  a  time  at  the  mercy  of  a  foreign 
devil  with  the  temper  of  a  virago  whom  no 
Petruchio  could  tame." 

The  rumoured  state  of  Anne's  health  was  as 
much  a  lie  as  the  other  stories.  It  was  apparently 
circulated  to  increase  the  sympathy  of  the 
populace  for  the  truant  daughter,  and  exasperate 
them  still  more  against  her  unfortunate  father 
and  stepmother. 

While  lies  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  news  reached 
London  that  Prince  George  had  set  his  wife  the 
example  of  treachery.  And  while  Londoners 
poured  into  the  streets  to  gossip  over  this  wrath 
that  had  fallen  in  such  heavy  measure  on  their 
Sovereign's  house,  the  King  himself,  weak  with 
illness,  stained  with  travel,  rode  into  the  court- 
yard at  Whitehall.  He  saw  the  commotion,  the 
looks  of  blank  despair  that  had  followed  the 
shrieks  of  the  panic-stricken  women. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded. 

They  looked  at  one  another  dumb.  .  .  .  Who 
amongst  them  would  dare  to  say  it  ? 

"  Speak  !  "  he  commanded.  And  as  he  still  was 
King  they  could  not  disobey  and  spare  him.  Then 
they  told  him  that  his  beloved  Anne  was  gone. 

A  cry  as  though  he  were  stabbed  to  the  heart 
escaped  him. 

"  God  help  me,"  he  moaned;  "  my  own  children 
have  forsaken  me  ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OHELTERING  as  well  as  she  could  under 
the  hoary  walls  of  Lambeth  church,  a  poor 
woman,  with  a  child  clasped  to  her  bosom,  stood 
on  the  bank  of  the  Thames  in  the  bitter  cold  of 
a  December  night.  As  the  cutting  wind  blew 
over  the  swollen  river  she  drew  more  closely 
around  her  the  threadbare  cloak  which  betokened 
her  poverty,  striving  to  protect  the  sleeping 
infant  from  the  icy  blast. 

In  the  background  were  the  villas  of  rich 
merchants  of  the  City  and  of  Southwark,  the 
lights  glowing  warmly  behind  the  casements  at 
that  late  hour,  showing  that  by  many  a  fireside 
the  spirit  of  Christmas  rejoicing  had  already  been 
kindled,  and  that  old-time  customs  were  being 
honoured,  though  Merrie  England  had  fallen 
upon  days  of  tumult. 

Rising  above  the  villas  were  here  and  there 
mansions  of  greater  dignity,  some  of  them  the 
abodes  of  noblemen,  while  close  at  hand  was  an 
inn  where  travellers  and  watermen  found  refresh- 
ment and  picked  up  news  of  the  town. 

284 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Neither  the  grey  old  church,  nor  the  Palace  of 
Lambeth,  rich  in  romantic  lore,  engaged  the 
attention  of  the  lonely  woman  shivering  close  by 
the  ferry.  She  had  no  eyes  for  the  villas  of  the 
rich  or  the  mansions  of  the  proud.  Her  heart 
was  torn  with  anxiety,  on  the  one  hand  for  the 
little  creature  nestling  for  warmth  to  her  bosom, 
and  on  the  other  for  her  husband,  between  whom 
and  herself  the  river  rolled,  broad,  and  black,  and 
menacing,  racing  silently  away  to  the  sea,  and  in 
some  mysterious  way  beckoning  her  onwards 
into  the  darkness. 

Across  the  glistening  flood  she  could  distin- 
guish lights  on  the  northern  shore.  There  was 
one  light  above  all.  It  was  in  Whitehall ;  and 
where  that  light  was,  there  was  the  King.  She 
watched  it  as  the  men  out  of  the  East  watched 
of  old  the  star  they  feared  to  lose,  did  they  for  a 
moment  avert  their  gaze.  As  she  tried  to  pierce 
the  deep  pall  of  gloom  through  which  the  river 
coursed,  the  light  that  fascinated  her  was  blurred 
into  a  thousand  beams,  the  reflection  of  her  tears, 
tears  for  the  lonely  master  of  the  Palace  ;  for  the 
poor  woman  in  scanty  attire  and  threadbare 
cloak,  sheltering  under  the  church,  crouching 
from  the  wind,  cowering  at  every  footfall,  was 
the  Queen  of  England,  and  the  infant  in  her 
arms  was  the  Prince  of  Wales  ! 

Mary  Beatrice  had  just  been  ferried  across  the 
285 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

river  from  Whitehall,  and,  clad  like  an  Italian 
washerwoman,  here  she  was  shivering  in  the 
blast,  awaiting  the  coach  that  was  to  convey  her 
to  Gravesend. 

A  little  apart  from  the  Queen  was  a  group  of 
ladies  and  a  cavalier,  the  chivalrous  Count  de 
Lauzun,  famous  as  the  husband  of  Madame 
de  Montpensier,  who,  with  St.  Victor,  a  gentle- 
man of  Avignon,  had  crossed  the  Channel  to  do 
battle,  like  true  knights  errant,  for  this  distressed 
lady.  St.  Victor,  who  was  garbed  as  a  seaman, 
had  run  to  the  inn  to  bring  up  the  coach  which 
ought  to  have  met  them  by  the  ferry.  This 
gentleman  of  France  was  of  the  very  mettle  for 
so  gallant  an  enterprise,  for,  besides  the  dash  and 
courage  of  a  soldier,  he  had  the  quick  wit,  the 
ready  hand,  the  lithe  foot  of  a  D'Artagnan,  born 
to  confound  single-handed  whole  armies.  A  pry- 
ing ostler  at  the  inn  followed  the  coach  and  six 
horses  as  it  swung  out  of  the  yard,  bent  upon 
discovering  what  passengers  of  consequence  had 
landed  from  the  ferry  at  that  late  hour.  Though 
he  carried  a  lantern,  it  did  not  save  him  from 
falling  over  St.  Victor,  who  ran  full  tilt  into  his 
arms  with  all  the  awkwardness  of  these  damned 
foreigners  !  Ostler  and  Frenchman  and  lantern 
rolled  in  the  mud  over  and  over;  and  when 
they  had  done  rolling  the  lantern  was  extin- 
guished. 

286 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

"  Ten  thousand  pardons,"  cried  St.  Victor,  in 
broken  English. 

"  A  plague  on  you  for  a  blind "  began  the 

ostler,  but  St.  Victor,  covered  with  mud  and  wet 
to  the  skin  after  his  adventure,  hurried  to  the 
carriage,  leaving  him  to  finish  at  leisure  his 
tirade  of  profanity.  The  Queen  was  already  in 
her  place.  Lauzun,  too,  had  mounted  the  coach, 
and  St.  Victor,  flinging  himself  on  a  horse, 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  cavalcade. 

Galloping  along  the  rugged  road  to  Gravesend 
few  words  were  spoken.  The  Frenchmen's  right 
hands  were  seldom  far  away  from  their  pistols. 
To  them  it  was  a  ride  through  a  land  of  bar- 
barians. They  could  not  be  expected  to  realise 
that  of  the  lusty  fellows  snoring  on  the  river 
barges  nine  out  of  every  ten  would  have  died  for 
Queen  or  Prince,  though  ready  to  slit  a  foreigner's 
throat.  And  of  the  travellers  whom  they  passed 
on  the  road  there  was  not  one  perhaps  capable 
of  even  a  harsh  thought  against  the  unhappy 
mother  and  babe,  now  leading  the  flight  of  the 
Stuarts  which  was  to  cut  them  off  for  ever  from 
their  inheritance. 

The  poor  Queen  was  distraught.  If  the  yacht 
should  fail  them  at  Gravesend  the  Prince  might 
be  taken  from  her  arms,  and  her  own  fate  be 
that  of  Mary  of  Scotland.  If  the  yacht  were 
there  in  obedience  to  the  King's  command,  soon 

287 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

she  would  be  far  away  from  the  husband  she  so 
passionately  adored. 

Her  Majesty  was  roused  at  length  from  the 
reverie  of  despair  by  the  warning  of  her  com- 
panions that  they  had  concluded  the  first  stage 
in  their  flight.  They  took  the  Prince  from  her 
and  transformed  him,  as  well  as  they  could,  into 
a  bundle  of  linen.  Fervently  the  ladies  prayed 
that  no  cry  from  the  bundle  would  reveal  its 
secret.  Then  some  finishing  touches  were  given 
to  the  Queen's  toilet  to  complete  her  part  as 
that  of  the  Italian  washerwoman.  In  a  moment 
the  coach  was  at  the  waterside.  The  shipping 
reared  its  masts  and  rigging  into  the  lowering 
sky.  It  was  a  cold,  and  desolate,  and  spectral 
panorama.  The  washerwoman  shivered  like  one 
smitten  with  ague,  and,  clasping  tightly  her 
bundle,  she  humbly  entered  the  small  boat,  in 
which  the  other  ladies  of  the  party  had  already 
taken  their  places.  Lauzun  and  St.  Victor 
stepped  in.  The  rowers  pushed  off,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  yacht  had  been  boarded,  the  sails 
spread,  and,  wafted  by  a  favourable  breeze,  they 
were  speeding  to  the  open  sea.  Heaven  was 
kind  to  send  that  wind,  and  fervent  were  the 
grateful  prayers  of  the  Queen.  But  the  voyagers 
were  not  done  with  alarms.  The  favourable' 
wind  freshened  until  it  became  a  gale,  and,  not 
venturing  to  proceed  farther  than  the  Downs, 

288 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the   yacht   cast  anchor  there   to   ride   out   the 
storm. 

Throughout  the  night  the  gentle  passengers 
lay  huddled  in  the  miserable  hold,  for  this  rough 
craft  had  no  accommodation  for  dainty  ladies. 
Lauzun  and  St.  Victor  stood  by  the  captain, 
ready  to  punish  treachery,  if  treachery  there 
should  be,  or  to  be  ready  for  instant  service 
should  the  tempest  threaten  them  with  destruc- 
tion. Quivering  beneath  the  buffeting  of  the 
mountainous  seas,  groaning  as  the  gale  tore 
furiously  through  the  rigging,  the  tiny  bark  held 
staunchly  by  her  straining  cables  to  her  anchor- 
age. In  the  chequered  story  of  Great  Britain, 
never  before  had  sea  and  storm  prizes  so  great 
so  completely  at  their  mercy,  for  it  was  not  in 
rough  Gravesend  schooners,  but  in  the  finest 
ships  the  world  of  their  day  could  build,  that 
Queens  of  England  and  Princes  of  Wales  were 
ever  wont  to  tempt  the  perils  of  the  deep. 

It  was  in  Monday's  small  hours  that  the 
Queen  left  Whitehall.  Not  until  Tuesday 
morning  did  they  descry  Calais.  At  that  welcome 
sight  away  with  caution.  The  washerwoman  was 
a  washerwoman  no  longer.  Now  the  bundle  of 
linen  might  cry  until  they  heard  him  in  Dover. 
Mary  Beatrice  was  once  more  a  queen.  Lauzun 
and  St.  Victor  had  secured  their  lady,  like  true 
chevaliers  of  France. 

VOL.  i  289  u 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

And  now,  with  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  in  a 
place  of  safety,  let  the  scene  be  changed  once 
more  to  Whitehall. 

It  was  long  past  midnight,  and  James  slept  the 
deep  sleep  of  exhaustion.  In  the  ante-chamber, 
watch  was  kept  by  the  Earl  of  Middleton. 
A  loud  knocking  suddenly  aroused  the  lord-in- 
waiting,  and,  the  door  having  been  opened,  in 
stepped  Halifax,  Shrewsbury,  and  Delamere. 

"  King  of  Hearts  "  and  Delamere  were  open 
enemies  of  the  monarch.  Halifax  was  a  dis- 
appointing friend.  What  did  they  want  at  such 
an  hour  ? 

To  see  the  King  ! 

But  the  King  slept. 

Asleep  or  awake,  they  would  see  his  Majesty. 
They  came  from  the  Prince  of  Orange  with 
a  letter,  and  they  must  deliver  it  instantly. 
"  Instantly ! "  It  was  a  sinister  word.  If 
Middleton  were  wise  he  foresaw  at  that  moment 
what  this  visit  meant.  The  King  was  no  longer 
master  here.  Authority  had  departed  from  the 
sceptre,  and  the  man  who  wore  the  Crown  was  in 
reality  a  subject. 

Middleton  turned  to  the  bedside  of  his  unhappy 
Prince.  Well  may  he  have  hesitated  to  awake 
him  from  oblivion  to  the  pangs  of  reality.  Per- 
chance, indeed,  his  sufferings  had  pursued  him  in 
his  dreams,  and  that  even  the  pillow  offered  no 

290 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  the  picture  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  in  the 
National  Portrait  Gallery. 

CHARLES  MONTAGUE,  EARL   OF  HALIFAX,   K.G. 


p.  290. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

refuge  from  the  round  of  martyrdom.  Falling 
on  his  knees  by  the  King,  the  noble  addressed 
him.  But  the  weary  spirit  would  not  willingly 
resume  its  dominion.  When  at  last  the  King 
awoke,  he  at  once  gave  orders  for  the  admission 
of  the  messengers. 

Never  had  envoys  a  more  ungracious  errand. 
Gladly  would  they  have  yielded  to  others  the 
honour  of  this  audience.  But  the  Prince  of 
Orange  was  never  the  man  to  spare  the  feelings 
of  English  traitors.  Halifax  it  was  who  pro- 
posed that  James  should  be  invited  to  leave 
Whitehall,  and  Halifax  it  was  who  was  obliged 
to  give  effect  to  his  own  counsel.  This  was  then 
his  embassy,  to  order  the  master  from  his  house. 

On  seeing  Shrewsbury  and  his  companions  in 
his  bedchamber  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the 
King  could  hardly  doubt  but  that  soldiers  were 
in  the  corridor,  and  that  he  had  lived  his  last  hour 
of  liberty.  It  was  with  relief  perhaps  that  he 
heard  the  sentence  of  banishment  from  his  capital. 

To  Ham  House  he  was  ordered,  but  James 
pleaded  that,  since  go  he  should,  Rochester  might 
be  his  destination.  They  yielded  the  point. 
What  did  it  matter  so  that  he  took  himself 
away  from  the  eyes  of  his  people  ?  But  through 
the  City  he  should  not  go.  The  spectacle  of  a 
British  king  being  marched  out  of  London  by 
Dutch  troops  would  ruin  everything.  It  would 

291 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

turn  to  fire  the  phlegm  of  plain  Englishmen. 
The  streets  would  run  with  blood.  The  indignity 
should  be  inflicted  with  all  possible  secrecy.  A 
prisoner  in  the  midst  of  Dutch  soldiery,  they 
hurried  him  away  to  the  river  on  the  morning 
of  December  18,  and  not  an  English  soldier 
mounted  guard  at  the  Palace  to  salute  the  King 
as  he  took  leave  for  ever  of  his  ancestral  home. 

It  was  through  a  blinding  rain-storm  that  the 
King  for  the  last  time,  from  the  barge  where  he 
was  a  prisoner,  looked  upon  Whitehall,  upon  the 
Palace  of  Westminster,  upon  the  mansions  which 
from  either  bank  commanded  the  Thames.  Cold 
was  his  heart  as  he  gazed  upon  this  picture,  which 
no  setting  could  rob  of  the  poetry  of  a  thousand 
inspiriting  memories.  Through  the  quivering 
cords  of  rain  which  lashed  around  the  barge  he 
saw  the  shore  lined  with  people  who,  braving  the 
elements,  had  come  to  pay  him  homage  for  the 
last  time.  There  were  tears  in  their  eyes,  but 
these  jewels  of  affection  James  could  not  see. 
And  then  at  last  the  tide  served.  The  barge 
moved  on.  The  Westminster  shore  was  left 
behind,  and  Whitehall  itself  was  soon  blotted 
out  by  the  windings  of  the  river.  Down  poured 
the  rain ;  dismal  was  the  town ;  lowering  was 
the  sky.  All  was  lost ;  and  Nature,  for  that  day 
an  artist,  made  this  mourning  well,  for  the  King 
would  return  no  more. 

292 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

While  the  captive  King  made  his  long  journey 
down  the  river  to  Gravesend,  Prince  William 
rode  into  London — to  St.  James's.  By  means, 
fair  or  foul,  he  would  win  this  kingdom,  but 
not  for  a  little  time  would  he  dare  to  govern  it 
from  Whitehall.  There  were  ghosts  which  his 
sword  could  not  exorcise,  ghosts  which  the  bottle 
itself  could  not  lay.  This  passing  cowardice 
was  a  brave  soldier's  tribute  to  the  sentiments 
he  had  trampled  down  on  the  road  to  victory. 

A  little  later  came  Anne  to  the  Cockpit.  If 
ghosts  were  stirring  there  she  would  brave  them, 
for  so  William  ordained  it.  With  a  high  hand 
would  Anne  carry  her  sin.  Bedecked  in  orange 
and  green,  the  Prince's  colours,  they  say  she  went 
to  the  theatre,  while  her  poor  old  father  was  on 
his  way  to  Rochester.  With  her  of  course  was 
Lady  Churchill,  to  help  her  mistress  brazen  out 
her  evil-doing.  Throughout  that  evening  the 
Princess  and  her  companions,  rather  than  the  play, 
were  doubtless  the  attraction  for  the  audience. 

And  well  might  she  be.  The  play  could  not 
surpass  in  tragedy,  nor  in  comedy  either,  the 
great  historical  drama  in  which  the  Royal  lady 
was  a  leading  actress.  The  men  and  women  on 
the  stage  were  like  the  strolling  mimes  in 
"  Hamlet."  For  here  was  a  play  within  the  play, 
and  the  stage  was  where  you  pleased,  and,  where 
you  pleased,  the  audience. 

293 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Outside  the  wind  blew,  freshening  almost  to  a 
tempest.  Anne  heard  it  blow.  Lear  was  at  its 
mercy.  His  boat  was  on  the  waters.  But  the 
daughter,  be-ribboned  and  be-jewelled,  beaming 
on  her  friends,  applauding  the  players,  would  not 
listen  to  its  rage. 

Till  the  end  she  remained,  then  drove  to  the 
Cockpit — to  the  ghosts.  But  what  did  the 
crowd  know  of  ghosts  as  they  pressed  round  her 
carriage  ?  The  great  nobles  had  ruffians  to  pro- 
pitiate or  to  reward.  They  had  party  victories 
to  compass  and  party  passions  to  inflame.  And 
this  enthusiastic  mob  "  hurrahing  "  for  a  faithless 
daughter  had  been  paid  its  price. 

To  her  pillow  some  echo  would  follow  the 
Princess  of  the  cheering  crowds,  and  in  her 
ears  would  ring  once  more  their  insults  to  the 
King  and  Queen,  raucous  jests  of  licensed 
ribaldry.  The  wind  howled  round  her  case- 
ment, and  on  its  wings  came  voices  whispering 
to  her,  whispering  God  alone  knows  what.  .  .  . 

When  at  last  sleep  touched  her  eyelids, 
strange,  indeed,  was  it  if  it  gave  repose  to  her 
throbbing  brow.  Who  can  sleep  with  ghosts  ? 
With  a  cry  one  can  see  her  start  from  her 
feverish  slumber  and  strain  her  eyes  to  penetrate 
the  gloom.  No  1  Her  brother  was  not  there. 
That  cry  which  came  to  her  in  her  dreams  was 
but  a  dream.  Thank  God !  The  King,  the 

294 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Queen,  the  babe,  were  not  there  in  the  shadows 
spying    upon    her    from    behind    curtains    and 
draperies.      Sleep   once   more,   Princess.      Now 
your  distracted  spirit  flies  through  the  night  to 
the   sea.      It  hovers   above   the  fields  of  dark- 
green  oily  waves  tumbling  wildly  away  before 
the  raging  tempest.     Poor  lost  soul !     A  minute 
here  in  the   black  whirlwind  is   an   eternity  of 
damnation.     Something  on  the  crest  of  a  huge 
wave  takes  shape.     It  is  a  boat — a  boat,  good 
God !  out  there  on  such  a  night !      The  wave 
fled  onwards,  bearing  the  frail  craft  to  the  deep 
trough  of  broken  seas.     Like  a  shadow  it  sped 
past  the  poor  trembling  spirit,  and  plunged  into 
the  watery  precipice.     A  woman's  white  face  set 
with  two  great  shining  eyes  was  all  that  sailed 
on  that  spectral  ship.     And  then,  as  is  the  way 
with   dreams,  the   woman's   face  was   a  babe's, 
and  oh  !  so  near  to  the  embrace  of  the  wolfish 
sea !  .  .  . 

But  one  may  not  sleep  with  ghosts.  The 
Princess  awakes,  on  her  brow  the  beads  of 
terror.  She  rubs  her  eyes.  It  is  still  dark. 
Sleeping  there  are  nightmares ;  waking  there  is 
remorse.  She  herself  has  made  it  so  ;  and  so  it 
now  must  ever  be.  Burying  her  face  in  her 
pillow,  vainly  she  prays  that  life  were  one  long 
day,  with  the  world  all  a-laughing,  with  no  night, 
no  loneliness,  no  silence,  for  thought  and  for  tears. 

295 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  FATHER'S  curse  inaugurated  the  Corona- 
•*-^-  tion  of  the  Princess  of  Orange.  Just  as 
she  was  attired  by  her  ladies  for  the  ceremony  at 
Westminster  Abbey,  a  messenger  brought  the  news 
that  King  James  had  landed  in  Ireland,  and  that 
the  Irish  had  acclaimed  him  as  their  true  Prince. 
Cold  ran  the  blood  to  Mary's  heart,  her  cheek 
blanched  at  hearing  that  her  deeply  wronged 
sire  was  so  near.  She  had  been  long  enough  in 
London  to  understand  that  she  owed  her  Crown 
rather  to  her  father's  ill-luck  than  to  her  own  or 
her  husband's  merit.  James's  errors  were  readily 
forgotten  when  it  ceased  to  be  the  business  of  the 
Press  to  paint  him  in  the  blackest  colours.  And 
now,  on  her  Coronation  day,  he  had  comeback,  and 
one  quarter  of  the  realm  had  welcomed  him 
home.  Nor  had  James's  flight,  his  misfortunes, 
the  courage  and  patience  of  Mary  Beatrice,  left 
untouched  the  hearts  of  the  English ;  for  was 
not  the  King,  with  all  his  faults,  blood  of  their 
blood,  whilst  the  stranger  on  his  throne  was  as 
little  flawless  as  the  Briton  he  had  driven  out ! 

296 


From  a  photo  by  Emery  Walker,  after  tlie  plettire  by  William  Wisslns  i 
National  Portrait  Gallery. 

QUEEN   MARY   II. 


p.  200. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Happily  the  Irish  Sea  still  rolled  between  her 
father  and  the  English  shore,  and  Mary, 
trembling  in  the  midst  of  her  waiting-women, 
thanked  God  for  it ;  and  might  a  "  Protestant 
wind  "  ever  sweep  its  restless  waters ! 

But  this  April  day  was  to  be  made  darker 
still.  The  King  was  with  her  when  the  Earl  of 
Nottingham,  her  Lord  Chamberlain,  handed  her 
a  letter  from  her  father.  He  wrote  that — 

"  hitherto  he  had  made  all  fatherly  excuses  for 
what  had  been  done,  and  had  wholly  attri- 
buted her  part  in  the  Revolution  to  obedience 
to  her  husband.  But  the  act  of  being  crowned 
was  in  her  own  power  ;  and  if  she  were  crowned 
while  he  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  were  living, 
the  curses  of  an  outraged  father  would  light  upon 
her,  as  well  as  of  that  God  who  has  commanded 
duty  to  parents." 

Nottingham,  whose  conscience  forbade  him  to 
assist  in  effecting  the  Revolution  while  it  ac- 
quiesced in  his  accepting  favours  from  the  new 
Court,  was  now  the  witness  of  a  singular  scene 
of  recrimination.  William,  whom  one  can 
scarcely  imagine  susceptible  to  any  curse  save 
that  of  seeing  his  troops  flying  before  an  enemy, 
declared  he  had  done  nothing  but  with  the 
approbation  of  his  wife :  not  only  with  her 
approval,  but  by  her  advice. 

One  can  believe  that  Mary,  in  her  desperate 
297 


craving  for  some  sign  of  affection  from  her 
husband,  may  have  outpaced  him  in  her  zeal 
against  her  father.  His  taunt,  flung  at  her 
before  the  household,  stung  her  indeed,  as  only 
truth  can  sting,  and  her  retort  was  tinged  with 
something  of  that  reckless  and  callous  spirit  in 
which  Anne  had  approved  at  Leicester,  the  idea  of 
a  Society  for  the  extirpation  of  all  Catholics  should 
ill  befah1  the  Prince  of  Orange.  She  told  William 
that  he  might  blame  himself  if  her  father  should 
regain  his  authority  for  "letting  him  go  as  he  did." 
What  that  mysterious  reproach  hinted  at  Mary 
alone  perhaps  knew  ;  but  in  its  dark  suggestive- 
ness  can  be  traced  something  of  the  cruelty 
which  only  kindred  can  inflict  on  kindred  when 
love  turns  to  such  bitterness  as  makes  common 
hatred  mild  by  comparison. 

With  her  father's  malediction  ringing  in  her 
brain,  Mary  went  out  from  Whitehall  with  her 
partner  to  be  crowned  at  Westminster  Abbey. 
The  occasion  was  too  solemn  for  the  airy  bravado 
with  which  she  had,  on  returning  to  England, 
entered  into  possession  of  a  father's  home.  Then 
she  was  joyously  defiant  by  command  of  the 
husband,  who  would  not  have  a  daughter  tearful 
for  so  slight  a  cause  as  a  father's  ruin.  And  did 
she  need  encouragement  to  rise  to  her  part  it  was 
the  duty  of  her  Court  to  fire  her  with  the  neces- 
sary spirit.  She  and  they  were  comrades,  if  not 

298 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  sin,  at  least  in  prosperity.  But  her  corona- 
tion called  her  to  a  stage  where  she  was,  above 
all,  an  object  of  curiosity ;  where  every  woman 
wondered  of  what  flesh  was  this  daughter  made, 
and  every  man  knew  she  had  sold  her  father  in  a 
frantic  effort  to  dethrone  Elizabeth  Villiers  from 
her  sinister  queenship,  and  had  sold  him  in  vain. 
William  eyed  nobles  and  dames  as  one  who  was 
their  feudal  lord  :  his  sword  his  best  title  to  their 
allegiance.  He  saw  himself  the  Conqueror,  just 
like  the  great  Norman  of  centuries  earlier.  It 
was  an  illusion  which  experience  would  dispel. 
But  Mary,  hot  with  shame,  had  no  illusions. 
There  had  assuredly  been  a  conquest,  a  downfall ; 
but  in  her  inmost  heart  she  must  have  felt  that 
there  was  in  England  no  such  slave  as  she  who 
henceforth  was  Queen  in  name. 

Hardly  had  William  taken  up  the  reins  of 
government  than  the  spoiled  child  of  James  II. 
was  rudely  awakened  to  her  folly.  Anne  had 
risen  against  an  indulgent  father  to  impose  upon 
herself  the  iron  discipline  of  a  fortress.  Of  that 
fortress  William  was  commandant,  and  none 
might  challenge  his  rule.  The  people  were  in- 
dependent ;  of  Parliament  he  was  a  little  afraid, 
because  it  held  the  golden  key  to  his  ambitions. 
But  in  the  Royal  circle  he  would  unglove  the 
iron  hand.  The  Queen  was  inured  to  it ;  but 
Anne,  with  spirit  unbroken  by  the  trials  through 

299 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

which  her  sister  had  passed  at  The  Hague,  was 
speedily  in  revolt. 

William  could  not  brook  spirit  in  a  woman 
unless  she  happened  to  be  Elizabeth  Villiers,  and 
to  Anne  he  would  show  no  leniency.  The  sisters 
were  not  even  comforted  by  mutual  affection  in 
their  serfdom.  The  bonds  uniting  them  in  girl- 
hood had  been  snapped  beyond  repair  during  the 
years  in  which  one  had  been  learning  the  lesson 
of  patient  suffering,  and  the  other  habits  of  un- 
restrained luxury  and  extravagance  at  the  expense 
of  an  adoring  parent.  The  first  delight  of  their 
reunion  was  quickly  dissipated  by  petty  conten- 
tions. Anne  asked  for  the  splendid  apartments 
at  Whitehall  which  had  been  the  home  of  Louise 
de  Querouaille  in  the  days  of  her  ascendency. 
The  King  immediately  granted  her  request. 
Then  Anne  desired  some  rooms  that  lay  adjacent 
to  these  for  the  use  of  her  servants.  The  Duke 
of  Devonshire,  however,  put  forward  what  he 
conceived  to  be  his  superior  claim,  and  the 
Queen  threw  her  influence  on  the  side  of  the 
Lord  Steward.  It  may  be  that  Devonshire 
thought  that  Anne  would  decline  the  Duchess's 
apartments  when  she  could  not  have  the  others. 
If  so  he  was  disappointed,  and  a  reversion  which, 
to  quote  Sarah  Churchill,  would  have  given  his 
Grace  a  very  "  magnificent  air "  as  master  of 
the  finest  ball-room  in  London,  was  denied  him. 

300 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Anne's  next  request  was  for  the  Palace  of  Rich- 
mond, endeared  to  her  by  early  associations. 
But  this  desire  brought  her  into  conflict  with 
one  greater  than  Devonshire.  Richmond  was  in 
the  possession  of  the  Villiers  family,  and  Eliza- 
beth's kindred  were  not  to  be  lightly  evicted,  for 
was  she  not  the  real  Queen  ? 

Many  circumstances  united  to  make  Anne 
repellent  to  her  brother-in-law.  He  soon  learned 
that  she  enjoyed  the  affections  of  the  people  to 
an  extent  he  could  never  hope  to  rival.  Her 
faults  were  made  light  of,  being  attributed  to 
selfish  advisers,  to  her  sex,  and  to  inexperience 
rather  than  to  innate  perversity.  Many  would 
gladly  have  seen  her  Queen,  since  a  change  of 
Sovereigns  was  inevitable.  The  future,  too,  was 
full  of  uncertainty,  and  to  the  astute  Dutchman 
nothing  in  it  was  more  uncertain  than  Anne.  In 
a  thousand  ways  she  might  be  made  the  tool 
of  those  who  would  thwart  him.  It  was  con- 
ceivable even  that  some  day  she  might  serve  as 
the  instrument  of  a  humiliation  in  the  exact  ratio 
to  the  splendour  of  his  uprise,  for  the  same  power 
which  had  placed  him  on  the  throne  could  in  the 
future  supplant  him  in  favour  of  the  Princess. 
Besides  this  jealousy,  based  on  Anne's  natural 
advantages  as  an  English  Princess  in  her  own 
land,  where  he  was  a  stranger  dependent  for  his 
rank  on  the  difficulties  of  the  nation  rather  than 

301 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

on  sentimental  ties,  there  existed  another  potent 
cause  of  strife.  Abhorrent  to  William  were 
Anne's  closest  friends,  Sarah  and  her  husband, 
now  Countess  and  Earl  of  Marlborough,  in 
virtue  of  their  share  in  the  Revolution. 

To  reduce  Anne  to  complete  subservience  was 
therefore,  for  political  and  personal  reasons,  a 
cardinal  feature  of  William's  policy.  Under  her 
father's  rule  Anne  had  drawn  a  Royal  income. 
But  the  Revolution,  as  she  regretfully  discovered, 
meant  more  than  a  change  of  monarchs.  There 
were  new  arrangements  at  the  Treasury,  and  the 
prodigal  mistress  of  the  Cockpit  saw  the  golden 
stream  grow  suddenly  dry.  To  William  it 
appeared  the  wildest  extravagance  that  Anne 
should  be  given  some  £32,000  a  year  to  spend 
on  her  caprices,  while  he  had  uses  so  much  more 
worthy  for  all  the  wealth  that  England  could 
spare.  The  Princess,  therefore,  was  deprived  of 
her  revenue,  and  became  a  pensioner  on  the 
bounty  of  her  brother-in-law.  He  would  dole 
out  to  her  what  she  needed,  and  he  would  see 
that  she  did  not  need  too  much. 

To  Anne,  who  had  never  known  restraint  in 
expenditure,  this  arrangement  was  the  very 
refinement  of  persecution.  In  the  past  she  had 
given  herself  no  anxiety  as  to  what  became  of  all 
her  thousands.  If  they  melted  long  before  the 
allotted  time  she  contracted  debt,  and  her  father 

302 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

came  to  her  relief.  What  a  change  was  this,  to 
find  every  golden  piece  a  rare  curio  which,  having 
once  escaped  her,  might  return  only  through  the 
tight  fist  of  King  William  !  It  was  too  early  yet 
for  her  to  feel  remorse.  That  was  a  punishment 
reserved  for  later  years.  Rage  and  disappointment 
and  vain  regrets  for  her  former  affluence  and  in- 
dependence were  the  chastisement  of  the  present. 
An  incident  which  occurred  at  Hampton  Court 
during  the  summer  following  the  Coronation 
throws  into  cameo-like  relief  the  character  and 
attitude  of  William  at  this  time.  Anne,  who 
was  shortly  to  become  a  mother,  was  his  guest, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  meal  a  dish  of  green  peas, 
beautifully  fresh  and  inviting,  from  the  Royal 
gardens  were  laid  upon  the  table.  They  were  the 
first  of  the  season,  and  Anne,  already  something 
of  a  gourmand,  revelled  in  anticipation  of  the 
treat  to  come.  William  helped  himself  liberally 
from  the  dish.  Anne  waited  patiently.  William 
was  strangely  forgetful.  He  had  devoured  her 
income,  he  might  at  least  give  her  a  spoonful  of 
peas.  He  renewed  his  attentions  to  the  dish 
without  ever  casting  in  her  direction  an  inquiring 
eye.  The  plague  take  him  for  a  king  if  this  was 
the  art  of  Royal  hospitality  as  acquired  at  The 
Hague !  The  great  man,  unconscious  of  the 
young  matron's  envy,  finished  the  peas,  and 
the  outrage  was  accomplished. 

303 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

On  July  24,  1689,  while  still  the  Princess  re- 
sided at  Hampton  Court,  a  child  was  born  to 
her,  the  only  one  of  all  her  progeny  who  sur- 
vived infancy  and  grew  up  to  boyhood.  Anne's 
pride  and  joy  in  the  birth  of  her  son  were  shared 
by  the  people  generally,  who  rejoiced  in  this 
pledge  that  England  would  once  again  have 
an  English  King.  The  patrons  of  the  Revolu- 
tion regarded  the  boy  as  heir  to  the  Crown, 
while  many  whose  sympathies  were  with  James 
looked  kindly  on  an  infant  sprung  from  the  old 
dynasty,  who  might  eventually,  for  the  sake 
of  peace,  be  preferred  to  the  rightful  Prince  of 
Wales. 

Encouraged  by  her  new  dignity,  and  strong 
in  the  favour  she  had  conferred  upon  her  country 
by  giving  them  this  Prince,  Anne  took  measures 
to  free  herself  from  the  thraldom  imposed  on  her 
by  William.  She  was  resolved  to  enjoy  once 
more  a  well-filled  purse  which  would  be  all  her 
own.  Steps  were  taken  in  Parliament  to  set 
aside  a  separate  income  for  the  Princess.  The 
Queen  having  reproached  Anne  with  the  pro- 
ceedings in  the  Commons,  the  latter  attributed 
them  to  the  solicitude  of  her  friends.  "And 
pray,"  said  the  Queen,  "what  friends  have  you 
but  the  King  and  me  ? "  It  was  Her  Majesty's 
first  thrust  at  the  Marlboroughs,  who  were  active 
in  promoting  a  scheme  which  was  probably  as 

304 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

necessary  to  Sarah's  comfort  as  it  was  to  Anne's 
dignity  and  peace  of  mind. 

A  sum  of  fifty  thousand  a  year  was  set  aside 
by  Parliament  for  Anne,  and  she  resumed  her 
former  mode  of  life  as  mistress  of  a  splendid 
establishment.  Nor  did  the  Marlboroughs  go 
empty-handed.  The  victory  brought  a  pension 
of  a  thousand  a  year  to  Sarah  from  her  Royal 
mistress,  with  apologies  for  troubling  her  with  so 
insignificant  a  trifle. 

From  the  Earl  of  Nottingham  the  King  pur- 
chased Kensington  House,  and  while  workmen 
were  engaged  in  transforming  it  into  a  Royal 
residence  Anne  leased  Campden  House,  in  the 
vicinity,  as  the  home  of  her  baby  boy,  young 
William  Duke  of  Gloucester,  now  approaching 
the  first  anniversary  of  his  birthday.  When  the 
day  arrived  the  little  duke  had  grown  enormously 
in  importance,  for  only  a  couple  of  weeks  before, 
the  disaster  of  the  Boyne  and  James's  second 
Flight  to  France  had  administered  a  crushing 
blow  to  the  hopes  of  the  Legitimists. 

But  though  the  fortune  of  war  favoured  the 
sisters,  victory  did  not  bring  contentment.  Mary 
had  immolated  on  the  altar  of  her  lord's  glory  her 
every  sense  of  justice.  True  happiness  for  her 
there  could  not  be  while  her  father's  malediction 
rested  on  her  head.  But  love  can  compensate 
a  love-sick  woman  for  much,  and  may  even  nerve 

VOL.  i  305  x 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

her  to  bear  so  terrible  a  burden.  For  Mary, 
however,  there  was  no  such  compensation.  She 
had  bartered  right  to  no  purpose,  and  having 
betrayed  her  father  she  found  herself  as  far 
removed  as  ever  from  a  place  in  the  heart  of  the 
strange  being  whom  she  had  the  misfortune  to 
call  husband.  Yet  is  there  something  singularly 
touching  in  the  way  she  endured  her  isolation, 
humbly  subjecting  herself  to  the  tyrant's  whims, 
in  the  hope  of  winning  some  day  a  tender  return. 
Just  as  for  his  sake  she  hardened  her  heart  against 
her  father,  so  she  never  dreamt  of  shielding  her 
sister  as  she  might  have  done  from  his  insults. 

When  in  the  summer  of  1691  William  was 
quitting  England  for  Flanders,  Prince  George 
volunteered  to  serve  at  sea.  The  Prince  had 
long  ago  proved  his  bravery,  and  though  without 
ability  for  command,  Anne  doubtless  wished  that 
some  employment  might  be  given  him  which 
would  bring  him  credit,  if  not  renown,  in  the 
eyes  of  his  fellow-countrymen  as  father  of  their 
future  King.  William  overwhelmed  the  unfor- 
tunate volunteer  with  contempt.  To  his  applica- 
tion he  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  when  all  George's  preparations  were  com- 
plete, and  he  was  about  to  join  the  fleet,  Lord 
Nottingham  waited  upon  him  with  the  Queen's 
commands  to  the  contrary.  This  humiliation, 
which  made  Anne  and  the  Prince  the  laughing- 

306 


From  a  photo  liv  Kinerv  Walker,  after  the  painting;  1>y  Micliael  Dahl  in  the 
'  National  Portrait  Gallery. 

THE   PRINCESS   AXXE   WITH    HEK   INFANT   SON,   WILLIAM, 
DUKE   OF   GLOUCESTER. 


1>.  300. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

stock  of  the  town,  was  softened  by  no  diplomatic 
subterfuge,  by  no  sisterly  grace,  and  henceforth 
Mary  and  Anne  were  divided  by  that  bitter 
enmity  which  can  rankle  only  in  bosoms  once 
united  by  the  gentlest  bonds. 

Soon  rumours  were  current  which  cast  Anne's 
household  under  something  of  a  political  cloud. 
It  was  said  that  Marlborough  had  entered  into 
correspondence  with  St.  Germains,  that  the 
ingrate  to  his  old  friend  and  master  was  a  traitor 
to  his  new  allegiance.  The  Revolution  had 
brought  Marlborough  an  Earldom ;  he  was, 
moreover,  a  lord  of  the  bed-chamber  and  a 
member  of  William's  Council.  But  the  wrangles 
of  ministers,  and  the  society  of  a  Court  from 
which  the  master  was  nearly  always  absent,  had 
no  attractions  for  one  of  the  greatest  warriors  of 
history. 

He  had  seen  some  service  in  Ireland  during 
the  late  campaign,  but  his  successes  there  had 
only  kindled  his  enthusiasm  for  the  broader  field 
beyond  the  North  Sea,  where  the  armies  of 
France  and  the  Empire  wrestled  for  victory. 
The  Garter,  which  would  have  consoled  him  for 
this  inaction,  had  been  solicited  for  him  by  Anne, 
and  refused  by  the  Queen.  Piqued  by  this  treat- 
ment, but  impelled  above  all  by  the  restless  spirit 
which,  untrammelled  by  any  code  of  chivalry, 
would  pursue  the  path  of  immediate  advantage, 

307 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Marlborough  turned  his  attention  to  St.  Ger- 
mains.  What  matter  who  was  King,  what 
matter  who  suffered,  if  with  one  more  national 
paroxysm  the  Earl  became  a  marquis,  or  the 
coveted  Garter  adorned  his  breast ! 

It  often  needs  greater  courage  to  be  a  rogue 
than  an  honest  man.  Marlborough,  in  entering 
into  relations  with  St.  Germains  at  this  juncture, 
was  courting  destruction.  William  was  kept 
well  posted  in  the  affairs  of  the  exiled  Royal 
Family.  Of  this  Marlborough  could  hardly  have 
been  ignorant,  nor  could  he  have  expected  that 
William  and  Mary  would  conspire  to  cover  up 
his  backslidings,  did  any  hint  of  them  reach  their 
ears. 

But  one  ready  to  dare  all  was  at  hand  to  banish 
the  whisperings  of  prudence,  if  such  there  were. 
Sarah  knew  that  the  Tower  was  full  of  political 
prisoners ;  she  knew  that  blood  had  been  shed 
profusely  to  protect  the  Throne.  The  Queen's 
uncle,  the  Earl  of  Clarendon,  was  in  captivity 
for  loving  her  father  well.  Lord  Preston,  James's 
Lord  Chamberlain,  had  escaped  execution  only 
because  he  was  more  useful  to  the  Crown  alive 
than  dead,  by  reason  of  the  information  he  could 
give  concerning  the  Jacobite  schemes.  Marl- 
borough,  however,  in  his  placid  fashion,  counted 
the  risks,  then  rushed  into  treason. 

He  wrote  to  King  James  that  he  was  harassed 
308 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

with  remorse  at  the  remembrance  of  his  crimes 
against  His  Majesty,  and,  what  was  of  greater 
moment,  promised  "  to  bring  the  Princess  Anne 
back  to  her  duty  if  he  received  the  least  word  of 
encouragement. " 

If  at  this  time  James  had  suddenly  appeared 
in  London,  resentment  against  his  successor,  if 
not  affection  for  himself,  would  have  gone  far  to 
secure  his  restoration.  Avarice,  corruption,  and 
extravagance  were  playing  havoc  with  the  re- 
sources of  the  country  ;  English  soldiers  were 
being  slaughtered  in  Flanders  in  campaigns 
barren  of  glory,  and  the  English  navy,  recently 
so  formidable,  had  been  swept  from  the  Channel 
by  the  French. 

William  would  not  condescend  to  flatter  his 
new  subjects  by  learning  the  art  of  being  an 
Englishman,  and  the  great  English  nobles  could 
not  acquire  at  will  the  Dutch  manner  which 
would  stamp  them  as  worthy  of  the  King,  who 
despised  them.  But  James  would  not  risk  being 
sold  twice,  least  of  all  by  Jack  Churchill.  The 
overtures  from  William's  lord  of  the  bed- 
chamber were  therefore  awarded  but  cold 
recognition  at  St.  Germains,  where  hard  fortune 
had  taught  them  to  value  lightly  professions  of 
friendship  that  stopped  at  fair  words. 

At  the  Cockpit  a  hundred  dark  schemes  were 
discussed  and  rejected.  Under  the  influence  of 

309 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

the  Marlboroughs  it  had  become  a  hot-bed  of 
treason.  The  master  was  of  a  temper  to  take 
his  wrongs  with  philosophy.  While  his  lady  had 
fifty  thousand  pounds  of  English  gold  to  maintain 
herself  and  him,  and  repair  the  ravages  wrought 
by  time  upon  the  wine-cellar,  Prince  George 
could  bridle  his  wrath.  Anne,  too,  had  her  aid 
to  philosophy,  for  there  was  Gloucester.  What- 
ever vexation  the  Revolution  had  brought  her, 
it  held  out  to  Gloucester  the  certainty  of  a 
Crown.  And  this,  regarded  from  the  standpoint 
of  purely  material  advantage,  might  be  held  to 
outweigh  the  discomforts  of  such  annoyance  as 
it  was  within  the  power  of  William  to  inflict. 
But  at  this  juncture  Anne  is  found  opposing,  as 
it  were,  Gloucester's  progress  to  the  Throne. 
Where  Marlborough  had  led  the  way  she  fol- 
lowed, and  at  the  close  of  1691,  just  three  years 
from  the  date  of  her  sin,  we  find  her  begging  her 
father's  forgiveness  in  this  letter  : 

"  I  have  been  very  desirous  of  some  safe  oppor- 
tunity to  make  you  a  sincere  and  humble  offer  of 
my  duty  and  submission,  and  to  beg  you  will  be 
assured  that  I  am  both  truly  concerned  for  the 
misfortune  of  your  condition,  and  sensible,  as  I 
ought  to  be,  of  my  own  unhappiness.  As  to 
what  you  may  think  I  have  contributed  to  it,  if 
wishes  could  recall  what  is  past,  I  have  long 
since  redeemed  my  fault.  I  am  sensible  it  would 
have  been  a  great  relief  to  me  if  I  could  have 

310 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

found  means  to  have  acquainted  you  earlier  with 
my  repentant  thoughts,  but  I  hope  they  may  find 
the  advantage  of  coming  late — of  being  less 
suspected  of  insincerity  than  perhaps  they  would 
have  been  at  any  time  before.  It  will  be  a  great 
addition  to  the  ease  I  propose  to  my  own  mind 
by  this  plain  confession  if  I  am  so  happy  as  to 
find  that  it  brings  any  real  satisfaction  to  yours, 
and  that  you  are  as  indulgent  and  easy  to 
receive  my  humble  submissions  as  I  am  to  make 
them,  in  a  free,  disinterested  acknowledgment  of 
my  fault,  for  no  other  end  but  to  deserve  and 
receive  your  pardon.  I  have  had  a  great  mind 
to  beg  you  to  make  one  compliment  for  me,  but 
fearing  the  expressions  which  would  be  properest 
for  me  to  make  use  of  might  be,  perhaps,  the 
least  convenient  for  a  letter,  I  must  content 
myself  at  present  with  hoping  the  bearer  will 
make  a  compliment  for  me  to  the  Queen." 

The  Court  was  not  long  in  ignorance  of  the 
doings  at  the  Cockpit.  Lady  Fitzharding  was 
neither  blind  nor  deaf,  now  that  her  sister  was  so 
near,  any  more  than  when  she  had  ruled  at  The 
Hague.  The  King  and  Queen  were  dismayed 
at  this  real  peril.  Nowhere  could  William  look 
for  disinterested  loyalty.  Everything  depended 
on  the  Queen,  and  her  ability  proved  somehow 
equal  to  the  emergency,  though  her  tact  fell  far 
short  of  what  wisdom  would  demand. 

It  was  Anne's  way  to  evade  an  unpleasant 
issue.  The  more  masculine  Mary  met  it  bravely. 
There  was  a  stormy  interview  between  the  sisters, 

311 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

one  bent  upon  destroying  the  Marlboroughs,  the 
other  their  sworn  friend.  Little  that  was  said 
has  been  handed  down,  but  sufficient  to  indicate 
that  Mary  played  the  part  of  Queen,  and  would 
command,  while  Anne  was  dogged,  and  would 
disobey.  Each  knew  well  the  measure  of  the 
other's  strength.  Mary  might  threaten,  but 
nobody  knew  better  than  the  Queen  that  they 
dare  not  hurt  a  hair  of  the  Princess's  head.  To  do 
so  would  be  to  invite  ruin.  Without  Anne's 
assistance  William  could  never  have  been  King, 
without  her  countenance  his  Throne  would  suffer 
in  stability  and  dignity.  To  attempt  to  punish 
her  would  be  to  reveal  her  strength  and  his  own 
weakness.  So  galling  a  position  exasperated  the 
Royal  pair,  and  they  struck  at  Anne  in  the  only 
way  they  dared — through  her  favourites,  the 
detested  Marlboroughs. 

As  a  lord  of  the  bed-chamber  it  was  Marl- 
borough's  privilege  to  assist  His  Majesty  to  don 
his  shirt.  This  honourable  service  having  been 
duly  performed  one  winter's  morning,  the  King 
sent  him  a  message  dispensing  with  his  services. 
Marlborough  had  gone  a-hunting  for  adventures, 
and  had  found  them !  Anne's  friendship  could 
not  shield  him  ;  and  if  the  Earl  had  counted  upon 
it  he  had  done  so  most  unwisely,  for  the  higher 
he  stood  with  Anne,  the  deeper  would  be  his  dis- 
grace, so  far  as  William  and  Mary  could  compass  it. 

312 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  IV  yf  Y  brave  English  !  My  brave  English  1 " 
J*yj-  Delight  blended  with  despair,  despair 
with  delight  in  this  cry,  for  it  was  uttered  by 
James  II.  as  he  watched  the  battle  in  which  he 
saw  his  countrymen  triumph,  while  his  own  most 
fondly  cherished  hopes  were  dispelled  by  their 
bravery. 

The  day  was  that  of  May  19,  1692.  Before 
James  lay  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  Channel,  on 
which  rode  many  a  gallant  ship  of  the  line,  with 
here  the  flag  of  France  floating  to  the  breeze, 
and  there  the  standard  of  his  beloved  England. 
And  beneath  these  flags  were  done  the  deeds  of 
reckless  valour  that  stirred  the  blood  of  the 
monarch  watching  from  the  shore.  Did  France 
win,  then  the  sea  was  clear  for  a  Franco-Irish 
army  to  embark  for  the  English  coast ;  and  it 
would  go  hard  with  them  if,  having  once  more 
set  foot  on  his  native  land,  he  did  not  regain  the 
Crown  of  his  fathers.  Did  victory  rest  with 
the  banners  of  England,  then  were  all  his  plans 
frustrated,  all  his  castles  but  castles  in  the  air. 

313 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

But  in  that  thrilling  hour,  when  his  old  comrades 
of  the  English  fleet,  with  irresistible  bravery, 
closed  with  the  French,  ready  to  die,  every  man, 
or  lord  it  over  the  Channel,  James  was  above  all 
a  Briton.  The  waters  ran  red  with  the  blood 
of  his  foreign  friends  ;  their  noble  ships  were 
shattered  hulks,  riddled  with  English  balls  ;  from 
the  smoke  of  battle  masts  and  spars  emerged, 
columns  of  fire.  The  French  were  beaten. 
James  was  beaten.  But  the  honour  of  British 
seamen  was  retrieved,  and  James,  a  British  sea- 
man too,  cried  out  in  an  ecstasy  of  pure  patriotism, 
"  My  brave  English  !  My  brave  English  !  " 

Could  the  English  have  but  heard  that  cry,  no 
foreign  ships  would  have  been  needed  to  carry 
him  to  London,  where  all  through  the  spring 
the  Princess  Anne,  now  at  deadly  feud  with  the 
Court,  awaited  with  trembling  anxiety  the  issue 
of  the  French  preparations  for  a  descent  upon 
England. 

Anne  was  lying  seriously  ill  at  Sion  House, 
the  ducal  mansion  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames 
familiar  to  Stuarts  in  tribulation,  when  news 
reached  her  that  misfortune  had  once  again  been 
her  father's  portion.  If  in  her  anger  against  her 
sister  she  had  really  desired  the  restoration  of 
her  father,  the  tidings  from  La  Hogue  must  have 
sufficed  to  convince  her  of  her  folly.  Not  every 
day  could  Louis  risk  such  a  battle,  and  for  weal 

314 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

or  woe  the  Throne  of  William  and  Mary  was  by 
this  victory  rendered  secure  from  foreign  assaults. 
And  as  for  domestic  conspiracies,  they  were 
likely  to  be  more  dangerous  to  the  conspirators 
than  to  the  Sovereigns.  For  it  was  ever  the 
spirit  of  the  English  to  look  askance  upon  patriots 
working  in  the  dark. 

Anne's  migration  from  the  Cockpit  to  Sion 
House  let  the  whole  town  into  the  secret  of  the 
warfare  raging  at  Court.  The  dismissal  of  Marl- 
borough  by  the  King  was  intended  as  a  hint  that 
he  and  his  wife  would  best  consult  His  Majesty's 
pleasure  by  disappearing  altogether  from  the 
Royal  circle.  Sarah,  however,  was  not  the 
person  to  obliterate  herself  voluntarily.  Im- 
mediately following  her  husband's  disgrace  she 
had  the  temerity  to  attend  the  public  reception 
at  Kensington  Palace  in  the  train  of  the  Princess 
Anne,  who  perpetrated  the  impertinence  with  an 
air  of  the  most  exasperating  innocence,  which 
was  a  feast  of  comedy  for  the  wags  of  the  Court. 
It  was  as  though  the  loyalty  of  the  Cockpit  were 
above  suspicion.  Above  suspicion  indeed !  Look 
at  the  Countess  of  Marlborough  come  to  do 
homage,  though  the  Earl  had  only  just  been 
driven  from  the  Palace  1  Surely  there  never 
before  was  such  humble  devotion  ! 

But  Queen  Mary,  knowing  Sarah  and  her 
sister,  construed  that  humble  devotion  into  in- 

315 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

supportable  insolence.  With  what  equanimity 
she  could,  she  endured  the  presence  of  the 
Countess  in  the  presence-chamber,  but  the  while 
she  inwardly  resolved  that  never  again  should 
Sarah  so  deride  her  authority.  If  Anne  and 
Sarah  laughed  that  night  on  their  return  from 
Kensington  at  the  ease  with  which  they  had 
flouted  their  Majesties,  by  the  next  day  the  jest 
had  lost  its  piquancy.  From  Kensington  Palace 
came  a  letter  commanding  the  favourite's  dis- 
missal, and  the  Princess  discovered  that  her 
splendid  joke,  at  which  the  town  would  laugh, 
relishing  its  coolness,  its  audacity,  its  aiiy, 
mischievous  spirit,  was  one  of  the  costliest 
escapades  of  her  life.  In  this  letter  declaring 
open  war  the  Queen  wrote  : 

"  KENSINGTON,  February  5,  1692. 

"  Having  something  to  say  to  you  which  I  know 
will  not  be  very  pleasing,  I  choose  rather  to  write 
it  first,  being  unwilling  to  surprise  you  ;  though 
I  think  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  should  not, 
if  you  give  yourself  the  time  to  think  that  never 
anybody  was  suffered  to  live  at  Court  in  my 
Lord  Marlborough's  circumstances. 

"  I  need  not  repeat  the  cause  he  has  given  the 
King  to  do  what  he  has  done,  nor  his  unwilling- 
ness at  all  times  to  come  to  such  extremities 
though  people  do  deserve  it.  I  hope  you  do  me 
the  justice  to  believe  it  is  as  much  against  my 
will  that  I  now  tell  you  that  after  this  it  is  very 
unfit  Lady  Marlborough  should  stay  with  you, 

316 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

since  that  gives  her  husband  so  just  a  pretence 
of  being  where  he  should  not. 

"  I  think  I  might  have  expected  you  would 
have  spoken  to  me  of  it.  And  the  King  and  I  both 
believing  it  made  us  stay  thus  long.  But  seeing 
you  were  so  far  from  it  that  you  brought  my 
Lady  Marlborough  hither  last  night,  makes  us 
resolve  to  put  it  off  no  longer,  but  tell  you  she 
must  not  stay ;  and  that  I  have  all  the  reason 
imaginable  to  look  upon  your  bringing  her  as 
the  strangest  thing  that  ever  was  done.  Nor 
could  all  my  kindness  for  you — which  is  ever 
ready  to  turn  all  you  do  the  best  way — at  any 
other  time  have  hindered  me  showing  you  so  that 
moment.  But  I  considered  your  condition  ;  and 
that  made  me  master  myself  so  far  as  not  to 
take  notice  of  it  then. 

"  But  now  I  must  tell  you  it  was  very  unkind 
in  a  sister,  would  have  been  very  uncivil  in  an 
equal,  and  I  need  not  say  I  have  more  to  claim, 
which,  though  my  kindness  would  never  make 
me  exact,  yet  when  I  see  the  use  you  would 
make  of  it,  I  must  tell  you  I  know  what  is  due 
to  me,  and  expect  to  have  it  from  you.  Tis 
upon  that  account  I  tell  you  plainly  Lady 
Marlborough  must  not  continue  with  you  in  the 
circumstances  her  lord  is. 

"  I  know  this  will  be  uneasy  to  you,  and  I  am 
sorry  for  it  ...  for  I  do  love  you  as  my  sister, 
and  nothing  but  yourself  can  make  me  do  other- 
wise. ..." 

Happy  had  it  been  for  Anne  had  she  bowed 
to  this  arbitrary  judgment ;  and  in  after-years 
many  a  regret  must  she  have  indulged,  that 

317 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

when  the  terrible  Sarah  might  have  been  sub- 
dued by  the  indomitable  William  and  the  spirit 
of  Mary,  she  herself  had  preserved  her  to  be  her 
torment. 

Anne,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  her  uncle 
Rochester,  determined,  however,  to  stand  by  her 
favourite.  For  Sarah  she  would,  if  fate  so  willed 
it,  go  to  the  block.  Not  that  Anne  relished 
strife.  But  like  Charles  I.  and  her  father,  the 
most  delicate  handling  was  necessary  to  guide 
Anne  along  the  path  of  wisdom,  for,  having 
taken  her  course,  however  foolish,  she  would 
not  readily  retrace  her  steps.  Her  reply  to  the 
Queen's  command  was  a  point-blank  refusal  to 
obey.  But  Mary  was  not  easily  baffled.  Dog- 
like  in  her  submission  to  her  husband,  she 
seemed,  nevertheless,  to  have  imbibed  much  of 
his  tenacity ;  and  while  to  him  she  was  ever 
compliant,  there  was  in  her  government  no 
reflection  of  the  wife's  weakness.  Anne's  dis- 
obedience was  met  with  a  command  to  Marl- 
borough  and  his  Countess  to  abide  no  longer  in 
the  Palace  of  Whitehall. 

It  might  have  been  argued  that  the  Cockpit 
was  strictly  not  part  of  the  Palace.  But  Anne, 
on  consideration,  waived  the  point.  Better  be 
a  martyr  than  a  victor  in  dispute.  If  she  could 
not  retain  what  servants  she  would  in  her  own 
home,  the  home  given  her  by  her  uncle,  of 

318 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

which  she  was  absolute  mistress  in  her  father's 
reign,  then  would  she  go  out  from  it  altogether, 
and  seek  an  asylum  where  tyranny  could  not 
pursue  her. 

In  her  distress  Anne  turned  to  the  Duchess 
of  Somerset,  and  begged  permission  to  be  her 
guest  at  Sion  House.  Their  Majesties  had  not 
anticipated  this  eagerness  for  public  martyrdom 
on  the  part  of  the  Heir-apparent.  Her  appeal 
to  the  Duchess  was  an  appeal  for  the  com- 
passion of  her  countrymen,  an  appeal  for  censure 
on  the  King.  As  a  proud,  rough  soldier,  His 
Majesty  could  not  help  feeling  aggrieved  at  a 
move  which  made  him  appear  all  too  faithfully 
the  Dutch  boor.  And  since  a  boor  she  would 
have  him,  a  boor  he  would  be !  In  a  month  or 
two  the  Princess  would  again  be  a  mother. 
But  her  state  of  health  was  not  deemed  in  any 
way  a  palliation  of  her  obstinacy,  nor  yet  a 
reason  for  allowing  her  to  go  unpunished.  Her 
history  as  a  mother  was  a  history  of  misfortune, 
a  history  that  now  made  a  special  plea  for 
tenderness. 

But  William's  heart  was  cased  in  steel.  Her 
plight  no  more  touched  him  than  if,  like  the 
hero  of  Roman  mythology,  a  wolf  had  mothered 
him.  Let  her  go  from  the  Cockpit,  and  so 
much  the  better  if  she  could  find  no  place  to 
lay  her  head.  Somerset  he  called  upon  to  close 

319 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

his  doors  against  her.  But  the  Duke  snubbed 
the  King  for  his  pains.  His  house  was  his  own. 
His  guests  would  be  of  his  own  choosing.  The 
Princess  was  welcome  to  come  when  she  would, 
and  remain  while  she  pleased.  Then  William 
exacted  the  only  revenge  in  his  power.  The 
Princess's  guard  was  withdrawn,  and  the  heiress 
to  the  Throne,  unprotected,  notwithstanding  her 
precarious  health,  was  robbed  on  the  highway 
one  day  in  March  while  making  a  journey  from 
London  to  Sion  House. 

Thus  were  the  sisters  open  enemies.  William 
left  immediately  for  the  war  in  Flanders,  though 
preparations  were  proceeding  apace  for  an  invasion 
of  England.  St.  Germains  was  bright  with  the 
dawn  of  new  hope,  for  if  the  English  fleet, 
weakened  by  political  feuds  and  disheartened  by 
reverses,  failed  on  the  day  of  trial,  the  road  to 
London  would  be  open  to  James.  Anne,  lying 
sick  and  repentant  at  the  lonely  riverside  mansion, 
had  plenty  of  leisure  for  bitter  reflection.  If 
James  should  return  how  would  he  greet  her  ? 
Generous  he  had  ever  been  to  her  errors.  He 
would  forgive  her,  of  that  she  was  assured ;  but 
never  would  he  forget ;  never  again  would  he 
trust  the  lips  that  had  lied  so  glibly,  or  confide 
in  the  heart  that  had  led  her  to  the  camp  of  the 
enemy  when  her  loyalty  might  have  saved  him. 
She  had  written  offering  to  fly  to  him  the 

320 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

moment  he  landed  in  England.  Looking  out 
over  the  desolate  pastures  at  eventide,  with  the 
distant  Thames  meandering  to  the  sea,  heavily 
must  the  sadness  of  her  state  have  oppressed 
her.  From  the  ordeal  fast  approaching,  after 
months  of  vexation  and  anger,  crowned  with  a 
decisive  quarrel  with  her  sister,  she  might  not 
emerge  with  her  life.  How  calmly  the  river 
flowed  !  How  peaceful  was  the  green  all  round  ! 
Perhaps  it  would  be  for  the  best  if  all  were  over, 
and  Nature  took  her  back  to  its  bosom  so  im- 
passive in  the  midst  of  all  the  turbulence  of  men. 

And  then  there  was  young  Gloucester.  How 
would  it  fare  with  him  were  his  grandfather  to 
return  ?  What  man  owed  him  loyalty  ?  Not 
James  assuredly,  for  who  so  base  as  the  man  that 
broke  bread  at  the  King's  table,  and  left  it  to 
ride  to  the  tents  of  the  enemy  !  George  of 
Denmark's  son  should  do  many  a  doughty  deed 
before  effacing  his  sire's  ignominy.  And  as  for 
William,  God  help  Gloucester  should  the  day 
ever  come  when  he  would  cease  to  be  the  most 
precious  of  all  His  Majesty's  subjects,  as  the  one 
on  whom  the  nation  had  built  the  happiest 
expectations. 

If  during  those  long  lonely  days,  when  few 
visitors  braved  the  displeasure  of  the  Queen  to 
make  their  way  from  London  to  Sion  House, 
Anne  prayed,  she  yet  can  hardly  have  known 

VOL.  i  321  Y 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

what  to  pray.  But  heavy  as  was  William's  hand, 
it  was  perhaps  easier  to  bear  than  the  dread 
lest  she  should  have  to  look  once  more  into  her 
father's  eyes  and  encounter  their  forgiveness. 

One  mid- April  day  Sion  House  was  thrown 
into  sudden  commotion.  The  Princess  was  ill. 
Off  to  the  Queen  flew  a  messenger  bearing 
Anne's  words  of  sorrow  and  of  fear.  The 
humblest  boor  whom  the  courier  passed  on  his 
way  to  London  might  have  been  softened  by  the 
appeal  which  he  carried  to  Court.  There  was  no 
housewife  in  the  rudest  hovel  nestling  on  the 
river  bank  whose  bosom  would  not  have  melted 
for  the  disconsolate  lady  of  Sion  House,  had  she 
but  known  what  Mary  was  soon  to  know.  But 
it  was  the  hour  when  the  blood  calls  for  its  own ; 
when  sister  yearns  for  sister ;  and  the  kindest 
hand,  the  softest  word  still  leaves  the  stranger's 
compassion  but  a  stranger's.  On,  messenger,  to 
the  Queen's  ante-chamber,  that  the  lady  may 
have  the  consolation  she  craves,  and  that  quickly. 

How  cold  was  that  ante-chamber,  though  out- 
side the  sun  of  advancing  spring  shone  brightly 
in  the  sky  of  blue  !  The  tenderness  of  April 
was  in  the  budding  trees,  in  the  glistening  verdure 
of  the  young  grasses.  Who  could  be  hard  when 
Nature  was  awakening,  and  all  the  secret  currents 
of  life  were  stirring  anew  ?  With  mysteries  and 
mysteries,  comprising  the  subtlest  things  of 

322 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

heaven  and  of  earth,  written  broadly  across  the 
face  of  that  April  day,  who  could  brood  upon 
the  childish  prick  of  some  thoughtless  tongue, 
upon  the  waywardness  of  some  hour  of  passion  ? 
The  courier  sent  in  his  message  from  the 
Princess.  It  was  very  humble,  infinitely  touch- 
ing in  the  great  fear  which  framed  every  word. 
It  was  to  announce  to  Her  Majesty  that  her  hour 
was  come,  "  that  she  felt  very  ill  indeed,  much 
worse  than  was  usual  to  her."  The  Queen 
heard.  They  waited  for  her  answer.  Then 
Pride  spoke.  There  was  no  reply  for  the 
Princess.  She  had  disobeyed  the  Queen.  Let 
her  suffer  all  the  pangs ;  not  a  gentle  syllable 
from  her  sister's  lips  would  assuage  her  woe. 

Anne  spoke  the  simple  truth  when  she  said 
that  never  before  had  she  felt  so  ill.  As  the 
hours  dragged  on  at  Sion  House  those  near  the 
Princess  were  filled  with  dire  apprehension. 
Mary  did  not  come.  Love  had  no  power  over 
her.  But  the  dread  grew  upon  them  that  the 
Queen  would  have  to  come,  driven  thither  by 
the  grim  compulsion  of  death. 

At  length  a  child's  strange  cry  of  wonder 
fluttered  the  hearts  of  Anne's  ladies.  In  that 
new  voice,  so  thin,  so  weak,  one  might  discern  a 
feeble  little  note  of  anger,  of  reproach,  of  re- 
bellion. They  had  not  given  him  half  a  chance 
of  life,  these  strangers.  They  were  enemies,  all 

323 


of  them.  They  had  robbed  him  of  he  knew  not 
what,  something  which  they  possessed,  but  which 
he  would  never  enjoy.  Tired  of  life  almost 
before  his  baby  eyes  had  peeped  their  amazement 
upon  its  light,  Gloucester's  baby  brother  tarried 
only  while  they  christened  him  "  George,"  after 
his  father,  then  expired. 

Now  should  Mary  come  !  She  had  turned  her 
back  on  Love,  but  Death  was  her  master. 
The  tyranny  of  the  situation  filled  her  with  rage. 
She  had  shown  such  firmness,  such  queenly 
pride.  And,  after  all,  she  should  make  that 
dreary  journey  to  Somerset's  mansion. 

Harshness,  by  some  inexplicable  inter-play  of 
emotions,  often  finds  refuge  in  still  deeper 
extremes  of  harshness  at  the  moment  when  one 
should  expect  repentance.  Knowing  as  she  did 
what  Anne  had  suffered,  Mary  must  have  beheld 
with  some  degree  of  horror  her  own  display  of 
unsisterly  feeling.  As  her  carriage  jolted  over 
the  rough  roads  to  Brentford,  there  was  ample 
time  for  reflection.  The  Marlboroughs  had 
come  between  her  and  Anne.  The  Princess  had 
been  unwise,  obstinate,  disloyal.  But  Anne  was, 
she  knew,  the  spoiled  child  upon  whom  King 
William  had  tried  to  impose  an  unendurable 
yoke.  Nor  could  she  close  her  eyes  to  the 
services  of  Anne  as  she  and  William  crept  to 
the  Throne.  .  .  . 

324 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

And  now  her  baby  boy  was  dead  !  .  .  .  Had 
things  been  a  little  different,  had  there  been 
peace  instead  of  strife,  had  Sion  House  been 
cheered  during  these  recent  weeks  with  bright 
hopes,  instead  of  being  overcast  with  gloomiest 
apprehensions,  might  not  the  infant  have  lived  ? 
She  had  gratified  her  resentment.  To  the  de- 
fiance of  the  Marlboroughs  she  had  hurled  back 
defiance,  but  at  what  a  cost  if  this  boy  might 
have  been  preserved  to  England  and  the  King  ! 

Whatever  remorse  tormented  the  Queen  as 
she  made  her  way  along  the  river-bank  on  this 
enforced  pilgrimage  to  Sion  House,  she  was  still 
unsubdued  on  entering  Anne's  chamber. 

"  I  have  made  the  first  step  by  coming  to  you, 
and  I  now  expect  that  you  should  make  the 
next  by  removing  Lady  Marlborough  !  "  Such 
was  the  Queen's  greeting  to  the  unfortunate 
Princess  who  had  not  yet  emerged  from  the 
portals  of  death. 

Anne  lay  on  her  bed,  white  as  a  sheet.  Not 
far  away  there  was  a  tiny  body  swathed  in  its 
grave-clothes.  To  feel  that  little  heart  beat,  and 
the  baby  limbs  grow  warm  and  pliant  as  it 
nestled  to  her  bosom,  she  would  have  yielded 
just  then  her  heritage.  If  Mary  would  but  look 
at  the  little  thing,  touch  its  waxen  fingerlets, 
speak  to  her  of  the  dainty  features,  the  wondrous 
eyes  so  swiftly  darkened,  the  lips  whose  first 

325 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

kiss,  delicate  as  the  heart  of  a  rosebud,  had 
ravished  with  never-to-be-forgotten  sweetness 
the  mother's  soul !  Such  talk  would  be  balm  to 
Anne.  But  Mary  had  come  because  she  should, 
or  give  the  scandalmongers  more  matter  for 
gossip,  and  she  had  nothing  more  comforting  to 
say  in  the  home  of  suffering  and  death  than, 
"  Dismiss  Lady  Marlborough  ! " 

The  Princess's  lips  trembled.  She  could  have 
turned  on  her  pillow  and  wept  with  pity  for 
herself,  like  the  simplest  plebeian  in  the  land. 
But  she  was  more  truly  a  Stuart  than  the  proud, 
hard  Queen.  It  is  so  easy  to  be  proud  and  hard 
when  flesh  and  spirit  are  an  imperious  unity ; 
so  difficult  when  the  sinking  heart,  the  failing 
pulse  envelop  the  soul  as  in  a  leaden  casket. 
But  Anne,  with  the  eyes  of  the  Queen's  ladies 
upon  her,  bravely  choked  back  the  rising  sobs, 
bravely  repressed  the  tears  that  would  fall  in  bitter 
floods,  bravely  steadied  her  voice  as  she  replied : 

"  I  have  never  in  all  my  life  disobeyed  your 
Majesty — except  in  this  one  particular ;  which 
1  hope,  at  some  time  or  other,  will  appear  as  un- 
reasonable to  your  Majesty  as  it  does  now  to  me." 

If  place  there  was  for  eavesdropping,  the 
Countess  of  Marlborough  heard,  no  doubt,  the 
Queen's  command  and  Anne's  disobedience. 

In  the  long  story  of  the  follies  of  kings  and 
princes,  higher  spirit  had  never  been  shown  in 

326 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

defence  of  a  worthless  favourite.  Were  it 
possible  to  redeem  Sarah  from  selfishness  and 
arrogance,  were  it  possible  to  transmute  the  base 
metal  of  sordid  service  into  the  pure  gold  of 
chivalrous  devotion,  Anne  had  done  it  when, 
though  sick  unto  death,  she  flouted  the  Queen. 
But  if  such  miracles  might  be  wrought,  it  was  not 
upon  the  like  of  Sarah. 

These  few  angry  words  were  all  that  passed 
between  the  sisters.  The  Queen  sailed  from  the 
room  as  majestically  as  she  had  come. 

This  memorable  visit  of  Her  Majesty  to  Sion 
House  closed  with  a  tableau  as  cruel  almost  as  its 
opening.  Prince  George  escorted  Her  Majesty 
from  the  mansion  to  her  coach.  The  unfortunate 
father  of  the  dead  babe  had  at  least  done  her  no 
wrong.  Sarah  was  not  his  favourite.  On  the 
contrary,  her  will  must  often  have  clashed  with 
the  Prince's,  and  then  it  was  George  who  should 
yield.  But  Her  Majesty  chose  to  forget  that  it 
was  so,  chose  to  forget  that  this  big,  dog-like 
fellow,  so  honestly  devoted  to  Anne,  had  lost  that 
day  a  son. 

She  might  have  called  the  dead  baby  "  George  " 
just  once,  as  though  she  would  have  him  back 
amongst  them,  if  the  boon  of  life  were  hers  to 
give.  But  there  was  no  word  of  pity  for  the 
father,  only  queenly  indignation  that  her  word 
was  not  law  in  his  household. 

327 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Back  at  the  Palace  once  more,  the  Queen's 
conscience  smote  her  for  her  harshness.  To  her 
ladies  she  spoke  of  what  had  passed,  and  expressed 
sorrow  that  she  had  allowed  her  anger  to  carry 
her  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  good  taste,  under 
circumstances  which  might  have  thawed  to  pity 
William  himself.  While  the  Queen  indulged  in 
useless  regrets  Anne  was  already  the  victim  of  a 
raging  fever.  While  it  ran  its  course  her  life 
hung  upon  a  thread,  but  Sion  House  saw  the 
Queen  no  more. 

Meanwhile  great  events  were  impending. 
Louis  was  completing  his  plans  for  the  invasion 
of  England.  The  French  fleet  rode  off  La 
Hogue.  Ashore,  the  camp  was  alive  with  the 
bustle  of  preparation  for  embarking  troops  and 
stores.  King  James  received  there  the  letter 
written  by  Anne  imploring  his  forgiveness.  To 
the  exiled  monarch  that  letter  was  a  good  omen. 
The  bluff  old  Jacobite  who  delivered  it  could 
not,  however,  forgive  filial  treason  as  easily  as  the 
fond  parent,  eager  only  to  find  excuses  for  the 
sins  of  his  children.  When  James  spoke  kindly 
of  Anne  he  apostrophised  her  in  the  choicest 
terms  of  a  vocabulary  learned  in  a  long  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  sea. 

While  the  country  was  drifting  to  this  perilous 
crisis  Queen  Mary  consigned  the  Earl  of  Marl- 
borough  to  the  safe  keeping  of  the  Tower  of 

328 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

London.  It  was  a  measure  of  prudence  on  her 
part,  for  the  decisive  battle  in  the  Channel  could 
not  be  much  longer  delayed,  and  Her  Majesty 
had  only  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  the  olden 
glory  of  the  British  fleet  would  again  be  tarnished. 
The  ships'  officers  were  for  the  most  part  fervent 
Jacobites.  Admiral  Russell,  the  Commander,  had 
repented  of  his  share  in  the  Revolution,  and  was 
now  in  communication  with  the  exiled  King,  and 
had  actually  arranged  the  terms  upon  which  he 
would  leave  to  the  invaders  a  clear  course  to  the 
English  shore.  All  that  Russell  required  was  that 
the  enemy  should  slink  out  to  sea  under  the  cover 
of  night.  By  day  he  could  not  let  them  pass  un- 
challenged, for  that  would  involve  shame  greater 
than  he  dared  incur,  and  would,  moreover,  be 
a  challenge  to  his  seamen  to  which  they  might 
reply  right  gallantly  without  word  of  command. 
William  was  in  Flanders,  and  the  Queen  was  left 
all  alone,  at  the  mercy  of  a  disloyal  fleet,  a  doubt- 
ful army,  and  a  people  indifferent  and  disap- 
pointed. 

Keen,  therefore,  as  was  Anne's  distress  at  the 
captivity  of  Sarah's  lord,  none  knew  better  than 
she  how  thoroughly  it  was  justified.  Any  day 
James  might  be  on  the  coast,  and  Marlborough 
would  gallop  to  his  camp.  That  was  a  risk  which 
Mary  dare  not  regard  lightly.  With  the  genius 
of  Marlborough  to  guide  him,  and  the  army  and 

329 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

navy  largely  officered  by  Jacobites,  there  could 
be  no  doubt  as  to  the  issue  of  the  contest. 

While  Mary,  at  Kensington  Palace,  awaited  with 
intrepid  spirit,  but  deep  anxiety,  the  fateful  decree 
soon  to  be  registered  in  the  shock  of  battle,  the 
patient  at  Sion  House  was  possessed,  as  she  wrote 
herself,  "  by  a  thousand  melancholy  thoughts." 
The  one  thing  wanted  to  complete  her  misery  was 
that  Lady  Marlborough  should  be  sent  to  the 
Tower  to  keep  her  husband  company.  To  Sarah, 
who  in  correspondence  with  Anne  was  nearly  always 
"  Mrs.  Freeman,"  the  Princess,  under  the  less  ex- 
pressive norn  de  plume  of  Morley,  wrote  as  follows : 

"  I  cannot  help  fearing  they  should  hinder  you 
from  coming  to  me,  though  how  they  can  do  that 
without  making  you  a  prisoner,  1  cannot  guess 

"  Let  them  do  what  they  please,  nothing  shall 
ever  vex  me,  so  I  can  have  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  dear  Mrs.  Freeman,  and  I  swear  I  would 
live  on  bread  and  water  between  two  walls  with- 
out repining  ;  for  as  long  as  you  are  kind,  nothing 
can  ever  be  mortification  to  your  faithful  Mrs. 
Morley,  who  wishes  she  may  never  enjoy  a 
moment's  happiness  in  this  world  or  the  next,  if 
ever  she  should  prove  false  to  you." 

Moved  by  a  happy  inspiration,  the  Queen 
appealed  to  the  chivalry  of  the  fleet,  on  which 
depended  everything.  To  degrade  the  Admiral 
where  so  many  of  his  officers  were  equally  false 
to  their  allegiance  would  have  been  madness. 
She  sent  to  them  a  message  declaring  that  in 

330 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

defiance  of  her  advisers  she  still  trusted  them. 
She  had  heard  of  their  disaffection,  yet  would 
she  leave  them  their  commissions.  Their  Queen 
was  in  their  hands.  They  would  not  betray  a 
helpless  woman  and  the  glory  of  their  country. 

That  appeal  was  a  master-stroke.  A  woman's 
tact,  one  might  perhaps  say  a  woman's  naive 
impudence,  saved  everything. 

Tourville  commanded  the  French  fleet.  He 
refused  to  slink  out  to  sea  under  cover  of  night 
in  deference  to  Russell's  wishes.  He  was  thinking, 
not  of  the  interests  of  James,  but  of  the  glory  of 
France.  His  solicitude  was  not  to  save  the 
English  admiral's  face,  but  to  win  the  laurels 
against  which  he  staked  his  life.  And  why  not  ? 
Misfortune  ever  dogged  James.  In  his  cause  no 
battle  could  be  won.  There  were  the  hearts  of 
the  English  beating  for  him,  while  the  sailors  of 
France,  of  late  the  mistress  of  the  seas,  were 
fighting  for  him  ;  yet  Fate  would  not  be  defeated. 
His  destiny  was  written  and  could  not  be  effaced 
by  the  blood  of  the  valiant. 

The  glorious  fortune  that  had  for  so  long 
attended  upon  the  Armadas  of  France  was 
completely  reversed  at  La  Hogue  ;  and  James, 
in  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  cried  out  his  admira- 
tion, as  we  have  already  heard,  for  the  gallant 
fellows  who — strange  confusion — wanted  him  for 
their  King,  yet  here  achieved  his  ruin. 

331 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WELL  might  Mary  have  echoed  her  father's 
applause  of  the  victory  of  La  Hogue 
when  news  reached  Kensington  that  the  French 
had  been  swept  from  the  Channel ;  that  she  was 
safe. 

Now  might  Marlborough  do  his  worst,  and 
Sarah  likewise.  Now  might  their  mistress  revile 
King  and  Queen  to  her  household.  Let  her 
promise  to  fly  to  her  father.  The  keeping  of 
that  promise  would  carry  her  a  long  way,  and 
by  paths  too  dangerous  for  the  luxurious  Lady 
Anne. 

La  Hogue  had  conquered  her  as  well  as 
James.  She  had  played  with  treason,  and  treason 
had  failed.  But  true  to  that  preference  for 
covert  hostility  rather  than  open  war  which  so 
distinguished  her  character,  Anne,  as  soon  as  she 
was  convalescent,  assumed  the  part  of  dutiful 
Princess.  She  would  pay  her  respects  to  the 
Queen,  and  Dr.  Stillingfleet,  Bishop  of  Worces- 
ter, was  enlisted  as  peace-maker. 

Mary's  reply  was  couched  in  a  vein  of  languid 
332 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

contempt.  La  Hogue  had  freed  her  from  any 
necessity  that  had  hitherto  existed  for  deceiving 
the  public.  Through  the  good  Bishop  Mary 
replied  : 

"  I  have  received  yours  by  the  Bishop  of 
Worcester,  and  have  little  to  say  to  it ;  since 
you  cannot  but  know,  that  as  I  never  use  com- 
pliments, so  now  they  cannot  serve.  'Tis  none 
of  my  fault  that  we  live  at  this  distance,  and  I 
have  endeavoured  to  show  my  willingness  to  do 
otherwise,  and  I  will  do  no  more. 

"  Don't  give  yourself  any  unnecessary  trouble ; 
for  be  assured  'tis  not  words  can  make  us  live 
together  as  we  ought.  You  know  what  I 
required  of  you.  And  now  I  tell  you,  if  you 
doubted  it  before,  that  I  cannot  change  my 
mind,  but  expect  to  be  complied  with,  or  you 
must  not  wonder  that  I  doubt  of  your  kindness. 

"  You  can  give  me  no  other  marks  that  will 
satisfy  me,  nor  can  I  put  any  other  construction 
upon  your  actions  than  what  all  the  world  must 
that  sees  them.  These  things  do  not  hinder  me 
being  very  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  well  and 
wishing  that  you  may  continue  so  ;  and  that  you 
may  yet,  while  it  is  in  your  power,  oblige  me  to 
be  your  affectionate  sister,  MARIE  R." 

Thus  bluntly  was  Anne  told  that  her  presence 
at  Court  was  not  desired  unless  the  Countess 
of  Marlborough  was  dismissed.  But  the  tone 
was  not  one  of  anger,  rather  was  it  charged  with 
contemptuous  indifference,  as  though  what  she 
commanded  was  for  form's  sake,  and  that  she 


cared  little  whether  she  was  obeyed  or  defied. 
How  much  more  animated  would  the  style  have 
been  had  Mary  enjoyed  the  stimulus  of  perusing 
this  letter  from  the  invalid  at  Sion  House  to 
Lady  Marlborough : 

"  Sure  never  anybody  was  so  used  by  a  sister  ! 
But  I  thank  God  I  have  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  withal  in  this  business,  but  the  more  I 
think  of  all  that  has  passed  the  better  I  am 
satisfied.  And  if  I  had  done  otherwise  1  should 
have  deserved  to  have  been  the  scorn  of  the 
world,  and  to  be  trampled  upon  as  much  as  my 
enemies  would  have  me.  .  .  .  Farewell !  I 
hope  in  Christ  you  will  never  think  more  of 
leaving  me,  for  I  would  be  sacrificed  to  do  you 
the  least  service,  and  nothing  but  death  can  ever 
make  me  part  with  you." 

Some  members  of  Anne's  household,  notwith- 
standing the  temper  of  the  Queen,  would  have 
had  the  Prince  and  Princess  go  to  Court  to 
compliment  Her  Majesty  on  the  triumph  of  La 
Hogue.  But  George  had  no  share  in  that 
victory.  King  and  Queen  had  left  him  ashore 
when  so  much  glory  was  to  be  won  at  sea.  It 
was  a  time  to  pity  himself  rather  than  to  rejoice 
with  his  persecutors.  And  so  Prince  and 
Princess  were  silent  amidst  the  chorus  of  flattery 
which  saluted  the  delighted  Queen. 

Without  presenting  themselves  at  Court, 
therefore,  to  offer  their  congratulations,  Anne 

334 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  Prince  George  left  Sion  House  for  Bath, 
where  the  visitors  were  received  with  every 
manifestation  of  loyalty  which  a  fashionable 
watering-place  might  be  expected  to  accord 
patrons  so  valuable.  The  Queen's  displeasure, 
however,  pursued  her  sister  to  the  West. 
Nottingham,  as  Lord  Chamberlain,  wrote  to  the 
Mayor  of  Bath : 

"  The  Queen  has  been  informed  that  yourself 
and  your  brethren  have  attended  the  Princess  with 
the  same  respect  and  ceremony  as  have  been 
usually  paid  to  the  Royal  Family.  Perhaps  you 
may  not  have  heard  what  occasion  Her  Majesty 
has  had  to  be  displeased  with  the  Princess,  and 
therefore  I  am  commanded  to  acquaint  you  that 
you  are  not  for  the  future  to  pay  Her  Highness 
any  respect  or  ceremony  without  leave  from  Her 
Majesty,  who  does  not  doubt  of  receiving  from 
you  and  your  brethren  this  public  mark  of  your 
duty." 

This  admonition  to  the  loyalists  of  Bath  to 
moderate  their  transports  rather  amused  the 
Princess.  To  be  forgotten  by  the  Court  would 
have  annoyed  her.  But  that  the  Queen  should 
grudge  her  the  obeisances  of  the  fathers  of  Bath 
and  the  cheers  of  the  people,  was  delicious  proof 
of  her  importance.  Lady  Marlborough,  who  had 
no  perception  of  the  droll,  was  irritated  at  the 
sudden  change  in  the  demeanour  of  the  Corpora- 
tion. Sunday  came,  and  the  Mayor  failed  to 

335 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

accompany  Anne  to  her  devotions.  Sarah's 
annoyance  was  depicted  on  her  countenance. 
Could  a  word  from  her  have  caused  Bath  and  its 
beneficent  waters,  together  with  its  Mayor  and 
Corporation,  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  earth, 
Sarah  would  have  spoken  it.  But  Anne  was 
amused.  The  thing  to  her  was  a  jest.  Tyranny 
had  made  itself  ridiculous,  and  its  victim,  wise  in 
her  generation,  merely  laughed,  knowing  that 
all  the  wit  in  Bath  would  enjoy  the  sport  the 
Queen  was  making  at  the  expense  of  her  dignity. 
While  Anne  was  in  the  country  the  scandal 
of  her  relations  with  the  Court  was  only  a  matter 
of  gossip,  but  when  she  returned  to  town  the 
bitterness  of  the  feud  was  apparent  to  every  eye. 
The  Princess,  instead  of  returning  to  the  Cock- 
pit, settled  at  Berkeley  House,  Piccadilly,  being 
vouchsafed  no  more  recognition  by  the  State 
than  if  she  were  a  private  lady.  Her  guards, 
which  had  been  withdrawn  when  she  went  to 
Sion  House,  had  never  been  restored,  a  theme 
upon  which  the  wags  turned  many  a  squib.  One 
of  these  took  the  form  of  an  imaginary  mandate 
from  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  the  bellman  of 
Piccadilly,  in  which  that  worthy  was  commanded 
to  abstain  from  paying  the  Princess  "  the  cere- 
mony "  with  which  in  his  night  walks  he  usually 
disturbed  the  repose  of  their  Majesties'  loyal 
subjects !  Nor  were  thieves  to  be  thwarted  in 

336 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

any  attentions  they  might  bestow  on  Berkeley 
House,  for  the  Princess  was  neither  to  be 
"  regarded  by  day  nor  guarded  by  night." 

Amidst  the  warfare  of  Kensington  Palace  and 
Berkeley  House  there  was  one  who  had  the 
freedom  of  both  houses,  one  who  in  both  enjoyed 
some  measure  of  love.  It  was  the  little  master 
of  Campden  House,  William  Duke  of  Gloucester. 

Campden  House  was  from  1690  the  boy's 
permanent  residence  wherever  his  mother  went. 
The  place  had  been  chosen  for  the  sake  of  his 
health.  But  the  relations  of  the  Royal  sisters, 
and  the  desire  of  both  sides  to  keep  the  boy  out- 
side their  quarrels,  helped  doubtless  to  influence 
an  arrangement  which  removed  him  to  neutral 
territory. 

Almost  from  Gloucester's  birth  there  was  a 
tacit  understanding  that  he  belonged  in  part  to 
King  and  Queen.  When  Anne  returned  to  the 
Cockpit,  soon  after  his  birth,  his  nursery  was 
established  in  the  former  apartments  of  Louise 
de  Querouaille  at  Whitehall,  which,  as  has  been 
seen,  were  secured  to  Anne  through  the  special 
intervention  of  the  King.  There  the  boy  was 
nearer  to  the  Queen  than  to  his  mother,  and 
when,  as  often  happened,  the  Royal  ladies  were 
indisposed  to  meet,  the  arrangement  enabled 
them  to  visit  the  child  without  risking  a  dis- 
agreeable encounter. 

VOL.  i  337  z 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

The  little  Duke's  nursery  at  Whitehall,  to- 
gether with  the  greater  portion  of  the  Palace, 
was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1691.  At  the  time  the 
boy  was  luckily  not  in  residence  there,  as  he  was 
staying  with  his  mother  at  Lord  Craven's  house 
at  Kensington.  But  Queen  Mary  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  her  life,  being  dragged  from  her  bed 
half  asleep  into  St.  James's  Park.  From  this 
time  Kensington  became  the  favourite  residence 
of  their  Majesties,  and  Gloucester  was  established 
as  their  neighbour  at  Campden  House.  The  air 
at  Kensington  suited  him  ;  but  had  William 
chosen  another  quarter  for  his  London  abode  the 
salubrity  of  its  air  would,  perhaps,  have  been 
found  equally  indispensable  to  the  young  Prince. 

Gloucester's  story  belongs  to  the  saddest  annals 
of  childhood.  Born  to  bless  the  Princess  Anne 
for  a  few  brief  years,  he  was  suddenly  snatched 
away,  that  after  the  light  she  might  feel  a  thousand 
times  more  than  ever  the  darkness.  And  when 
her  boy  was  lost  to  her  she  had  not  even  the 
solace  of  knowing  that  his  short  life  was  free 
from  shadows.  Doomed  to  an  early  grave  from 
his  birth,  Prince  George  and  the  Princess  thought 
to  make  him  a  model  of  Royal  accomplishments. 
They  would  transform  the  delicate  flower  into 
an  oak  of  the  forest ;  and  the  flower  bravely 
raised  its  head,  as  though  it  would  flourish  under 
the  most  pitiless  hands.  But  the  more  bravely 

338 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

it  opened  its  tender  petals  to  the  roughest  day, 
the  surer  was  its  fate  ;  and  soon  there  was  neither 
oak  nor  flower,  only  the  tears  of  those  who  had 
misunderstood  and  were  now  disconsolate. 

Anne  had  been  so  unfortunate  with  her  other 
children  that  Gloucester,  though  a  sturdy  infant, 
was  at  first  smiled  upon  with  misgivings.  Was 
he,  too,  tarrying  but  for  a  little  while,  to  dis- 
appear when  he  had  stolen  all  their  hearts, 
leaving  them  poorer  and  sadder  than  ever  ?  The 
endearments  lavished  on  him  had  in  their 
pleasure  something  of  apprehension.  As  the 
years  rolled  by,  however,  they  began  to  think 
that  Anne  had  in  one  of  her  children  escaped 
the  curse  that  seemed  to  wither  her  offspring  in 
the  very  hour  of  nativity.  If  fear  did  not  vanish 
altogether,  it  retreated  at  least  to  a  distance,  and 
around  the  boy  revolved  whatever  was  most 
charming  in  the  life  of  the  Court.  The  King 
was  too  much  a  warrior  not  to  feel  some  interest 
in  a  little  fellow  who  was  a  born  soldier,  full 
of  spirit,  and,  though  fragile,  gifted  with  strange 
endurance. 

William  watched  him  less  as  a  prince  than  as 
a  cadet,  who  some  day  might  lead  battalions  and 
charge  with  flying  squadrons  at  roll  of  drum. 
He  sometimes  forgot  that  he  was  Anne's  son, 
and  that  the  blood  of  the  despised  George 
flowed  in  his  veins.  He  built,  perhaps,  castles 

339 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

in  the  air,  as  the  roughest  soldier  will,  and 
promised  himself  that,  by-and-by,  he  would 
make  such  a  warrior  of  this  young  tyrant  that 
men  would  say  "  Orange  drilled  him  well ! " 
For  the  present  the  ladies  might  caress  him. 
In  his  long  clothes  he  was  no  better  than  a  girl. 
Let  his  mother  have  him.  But  in  a  few  years 
he  would  tear  him  from  Her  Highness's  apron- 
strings,  enlist  him  for  a  soldier,  and  breed  in  him 
the  true  temper  of  the  camp. 

Little  Gloucester  was  carried  over  every  day 
from  Campden  House  to  Kensington  Palace  to 
see  his  aunt,  and  this  was  the  chief  pleasure  of 
the  Queen,  if  pleasure  there  was  in  her  life. 
Her  husband  came  and  went.  England  had 
proved  but  a  poor  prize  to  him,  and  little  rest 
did  he  ever  find  in  its  fair  domains.  From  hired 
generalissimo  of  the  Empire  he  had  suddenly 
become  the  peer  of  his  old  antagonist,  Louis  XIV 
But  the  sword  was  not  for  William  merely  an 
aid  of  fortune.  It  had  in  itself  some  magic  that 
gave  him  happiness. 

And  so,  instead  of  resting  on  his  laurels, 
dreams  as  splendid,  as  aspiring,  as  impossible, 
as  ever  occupied  the  mind  of  the  Grand 
Monarque,  were  his  only  refuge  from  the  ennui 
of  Royal  state.  But  while  her  lord's  mind  ran 
on  battles  and  the  welding  of  new  empires,  in 
which  perhaps  William  of  Orange  would  find 

340 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

himself  at  the  head  of  a  confederation  extending 
from  the  North  Sea  to  the  Carpathians,  his  Con- 
sort could  not  fly  for  refuge  to  the  battlefield. 

Mary  had  not  one  of  all  her  kindred  to  console 
her,  had  not  one  devoted  friend  whom  she  could 
trust.  The  man  she  loved  with  ah1  her  soul  was 
indifferent,  was  worse  than  indifferent,  was  un- 
faithful. Her  sister  was  her  enemy,  yet  must 
she  lavish  her  love  on  something.  And  there 
was  only  Gloucester  to  claim  a  part  in  the 
wealth  of  affection,  in  the  reservoirs  of  tender- 
ness, that,  uncared  for  and  despised,  made  half 
the  childless  woman's  weight  of  misery.  With 
spendthrift  prodigality  was  the  child's  bid  for 
love  rewarded.  And  in  return  he  was  perhaps 
the  only  being  who  really  loved  Queen  Mary. 

Kensington  Palace  was  a  dull  Court  when  the 
King  was  present,  because  he  could  never  expand 
amongst  Englishmen  ;  duller  when  he  was  away, 
because  then  Mary  was  distracted  with  fear  lest 
her  policy  should,  by  its  success,  make  the  King 
jealous,  or  by  its  failure  anger  him.  The  one 
bright  spot  in  Royal  Kensington  was  the  nursery 
at  Campden  House,  and  brighter  grew  the  light 
as  the  boy  grew  older  and  every  day  more  a 
tyrant.  For  his  tyranny  the  ladies  adored  him, 
and  the  men  said,  "  Such  spirit !  Egad,  his  is 
the  right  Royal  mettle !  Devil  a  knee  will  he 
ever  bend  to  Pope  or  people !  " 

341 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

To  William  they  said  the  toy  he  loved  best 
was  a  sword,  and  that  he  might  not  suffer  in  so 
worthy  a  taste  through  neglect  of  it,  Campden 
House  was  turned  into  a  sort  of  miniature 
arsenal.  Cannon  were  mounted,  wooden  swords 
forged  for  baby  fists  were  stored  in  the  armouries, 
and  toy  muskets  were  stacked  for  a  boy 
battalion. 

On  Easter  day  1694  a  revolution  was  effected 
at  Campden  House.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester 
donned  for  the  first  time  male  attire.  Lady 
Fitzharding  stood  sentinel  while  the  hero  of 
England  stepped  into  breeches.  And  a  white 
camblet  with  silver  loops  and  buttons  completed 
the  Royal  toilet.  The  parents  were  enraptured, 
the  ladies  pestered  His  Highness  with  kisses. 
It  was  a  day  of  jubilee  for  all  the  Court,  save 
one,  and  he  was  the  hero  of  the  festival.  A 
scowl  was  on  the  seigneur's  brow.  His  lips 
were  pouted.  He  was  lamenting  his  old  clothes, 
which  were  an  easier  fit  than  the  new  ones. 
This  was  a  misfortune  for  the  tailor,  who  was 
tried  by  court-martial  and  condemned  to  be 
punished  by  the  urchins  of  the  Duke's  regiment. 
This  regiment  of  "  House  Guards,"  as  Gloucester 
called  his  companions,  was  the  delight  of  the 
town. 

If  the  bloods  of  the  Court  in  the  days  of 
Charles  were  the  terror  of  husbands,  the  baby- 

342 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

swashbucklers  of  Campden  House  were  now  the 
terror  of  tradesmen  and  servants,  who  dare  not 
cuff  their  nobilities  on  peril  of  losing  their  places. 
They  had  a  review  in  Kensington  Gardens, 
attended  by  the  King,  and  there  they  marched 
and  counter-marched,  attacked  and  retreated,  to 
the  delight  of  their  martinet-chief.  His  Majesty 
was  enchanted.  If  only  this  precocious  youngster 
with  the  passion  for  steel  were  his  son,  or  at 
least,  not  Anne's  brat,  how  loudly  he  would 
laugh  where  now  he  only  smiled  1 

•'  Sir,"  said  Gloucester,  with  a  most  comical 
assumption  of  the  airs  of  a  gallant,  in  acknow- 
ledging the  Royal  compliments  showered  on  his 
forces,  "  I  and  my  regiment  will  follow  you  to 
the  war." 

It  was  the  finest  joke  William  had  heard  since 
setting  foot  in  this  accursed  England.  He 
roared  with  laughter.  At  that  moment  he  could 
almost  forgive  the  Duke  for  having  a  mother. 
But  the  terrible  Gloucester  was  not  done.  He 
turned  to  the  Queen : 

"  My  mamma  once  upon  a  time  had  guards  as 
well  as  you,"  he  said.  "  Why  has  she  not  got 
them  now  ? " 

At  this  allusion  to  the  indignity  inflicted  upon 
the  Lady  of  Berkeley  House,  the  King  and  Queen 
and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Royal  circle 
were  dumbfounded.  His  Majesty  was  the  first 

343 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

to  recover  his  presence  of  mind,  and  his  repartee 
was  a  soldier's.  He  presented  the  drummer  with 
two  guineas,  presumably  as  a  reward  for  the  loyal 
fire  which  he  put  into  his  drumsticks  at  an 
awkward  moment  for  his  Sovereign.  And  the 
question  remained  unanswered  why  the  Princess 
Anne,  though  next  in  the  line  of  succession  to 
the  Throne,  should  be  denied  the  military  honours 
due  to  her  rank. 

Thus  it  would  seem  that  almost  the  first  thing 
which  dawned  upon  Gloucester  when  he  began 
to  speculate  in  childish  fashion  upon  the  duty  of 
kinship  and  the  privileges  of  Royalty,  was  that 
his  mother  was  out  of  favour  at  Court.  He 
loved  her  dearly,  and  the  question  about  her 
guards  which  he  addressed  to  the  Queen, 
emboldened  by  their  Majesties'  delight  and 
laughter  at  his  loyal  display,  was  his  first  effort 
in  her  defence.  It  was  an  ideal  opportunity  for 
retracing  his  steps,  had  William  but  the  grace  to 
seize  it.  The  public  loved  the  boy,  and  an 
incident  which  presented  him  as  a  Prince  of 
Peace  would  have  delighted  the  country  as  a 
happy  issue  to  his  mother's  troubles,  and  a  still 
happier  omen  for  his  own  future.  But  the 
occasion  passed  without  any  unbending  on  the 
King's  part,  and  at  Berkeley  House  it  served 
no  other  purpose  than  to  raise  a  laugh  at  His 
Majesty's  expense. 

344 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Open  enmity  continued  therefore,  despite  the 
bond  which  Gloucester  formed  between  the  two 
households.  To  the  child  it  was  all  an  exasperat- 
ing puzzle.  Why  would  not  mamma  walk  over 
to  the  Palace  with  him  ?  He  would  pledge  his 
Royal  word  for  her  reception.  He  would  pledge 
his  oath,  if  mamma  would  pardon  him  for  swear- 
ing, as  of  course  he  would  have  to  swear  by-and- 
by  when  he  was  a  man.  But  Anne  would  not 
take  his  word  ;  would  not  let  him  swear  ;  would 
not  make  him  the  happiest  little  boy  on  earth,  by 
doing  this  thing  for  him.  Nor  would  Prince 
George  escape  his  petitions.  And  George,  no 
doubt,  said,  "  It  was  not  possible."  There  were 
certain  large  black  bottles  to  be  emptied.  Duty 
first,  duty  always,  was  the  Spartan  way  ! 

But  another  peacemaker  than  young  Gloucester 
was  hovering  nigh  to  Kensington.  The  years 
wasted  in  strife  were  never  to  be  effaced  by  the 
kindness  of  later  days.  Mary  of  Orange  was 
only  thirty-three  when  the  disease  which  was  in 
that  day  the  scourge  of  Europe  chose  the  greatest 
lady  in  the  land  as  its  victim.  It  passed  by  the 
hovels  of  the  poor,  the  mansions  of  the  grandees, 
Berkeley  House  itself,  and  in  Kensington  Palace 
small-pox  struck  down  the  Queen. 

This  was  December  of  1694.  Christmas  was 
at  hand,  but  at  Court  the  season  was  rather  one 
of  mourning  than  of  joy,  for  William  had  come 

8*5 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

back  from  Flanders  disappointed  with  the  fortune 
of  war,  and  was  grimly  absorbed  in  new  plans  for 
retrieving  his  laurels  when  once  again  he  should 
take  the  field. 

On  the  frozen  turf  before  the  Palace  the  frost 
glistened  under  the  winter  sky.  London,  away  in 
the  distance,  slept.  All  the  Royal  household  at 
Kensington  slept  too,  save  the  Queen.  She  had 
not  retired.  She  was  indisposed ;  and  some  strange 
spirit  of  prophecy  visited  her  in  her  chamber, 
warning  her  that  her  days  were  numbered.  At 
the  whispered  prophecy  she  did  not  smile,  proud 
in  the  strength,  the  confidence  of  youth.  She  was 
at  the  age  when  one  is  still  young  enough  to  feel 
immortal.  Why  should  she  die  ?  There  were 
old  men,  old  women,  in  the  Palace,  in  the  town. 
Why  not  one  of  them  ?  She  had  only  just 
begun  to  master  the  science  of  government. 
She  might  surely  ask  for  thirty  years  more  from 
the  Lifegiver.  But  though  the  poison  which  was 
to  destroy  her  had  as  yet  hardly  entered  her  veins, 
and  though  she  had  no  notion  of  the  disease  which 
had  settled  upon  her,  Mary  apparently  foresaw 
her  doom,  and  bowed  to  it. 

Through  that  long  winter's  night  the  Queen 
spent  the  hours  reading  letters  and  documents, 
and  feeding  with  them  the  fire  burning  in  her 
cabinet.  The  blaze  did  not  slacken.  There  was 
plenty  to  burn. 

346 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

And  then,  when  the  flames  held  the  secrets 
which  she  would  not  have  us  share,  there  was 
still  one  task  between  her  and  the  bed  from 
which  she  would  never  rise  again.  When  her 
tongue  would  be  for  ever  silent,  and  whilst  still 
the  softening  influence  of  death  pervaded  the 
Palace,  she  would  speak  from  her  shroud  to 
the  King.  In  life  he  had  been  deaf  to  her 
pleading,  marble  to  her  devotion.  Mayhap,  when 
he  stood  alone  on  the  Throne  he  owed  to  her, 
his  soul  would  expand  to  behold  what  she  had 
sacrificed  to  win  his  love.  Sin  1  There  was  no 
sin  when  William  had  need  of  her.  Love  !  There 
was  no  such  thing  of  price  to  her  save  the  Arctic 
warmth  of  his  narrow  soul.  And  for  that  feeble 
warmth,  that  pale,  faint  glow,  she  would  sell 
all  her  kindred,  had  sold  them,  but  never  was 
she  to  know  it  for  her  very  own. 

The  Queen's  last  letter  to  be  read  by  the 
King  after  her  death  concerned,  it  is  thought, 
Elizabeth  Villiers,  the  woman  who  enjoyed  that 
affection  for  which  she  would  have  exchanged 
the  Crown  of  England.  The  doomed  Queen's 
face  grew  stern  as  she  wrote.  The  poison  was 
stealing  through  her  blood.  The  pen  had  a 
strange  touch  to  her  feverish  fingers.  Often 
she  looked  towards  the  door  as  though  expect- 
ing it  would  open.  Whom  did  she  look  for  ? 
Was  it  the  King  ?  Was  it  for  the  woman  who 

347 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

had  for  so  long  been  the  enemy  of  her  peace  ? 
Was  it  for  some  visitor  strayed  from  the  world 
for  which  she  was  preparing  so  diligently?  Though 
who  that  visitor  should  be  she  knew  not,  nor 
yet  a  reason  for  an  envoy  from  the  unknown. 
But  her  brain  was  on  fire,  peopling  her  cabinet 
with  spectral  faces,  seen  dimly  through  eyes 
buried  in  the  caverns  of  other  eyes,  like  the 
terrifying  reflections  of  impalpable  mirrors. 

One  can  see  her  shudder.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  the  chill  which  creeps  over  the  fever- 
stricken  like  a  mantle  of  ice  that  set  her 
trembling  in  every  nerve  ;  and  that  neither  the 
ghosts  of  fancy,  nor  aught  that  might  be  in 
the  darksome  corridors  without,  had  power  to 
dismay  Mary.  For  none  but  a  brave  woman 
could  thus  prepare,  as  she  was  doing,  for  the 
eternal  imprisonment  of  the  tomb,  which  she 
saw  wide  open,  yawning  for  her  custody. 

The  whole  secret  of  that  last  letter  to  the 
King,  who  had  so  grievously  wronged  her,  exists 
only  in  that  world  where  the  thoughts  born  of 
human  minds  may  have  some  immortal  being. 
But  no  portrait  remains  of  it  in  the  shape  of 
letter  or  ample  tradition.  Perhaps  it  contained 
a  sublime  forgiveness.  Perhaps  the  patience  of 
years  failed  her  at  the  end,  and  that  reproach,  so 
long  withheld  in  the  hope  of  tardy  reparation, 
flowed  unchecked  when  death  intruded  to  ensure 

348 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

that  the  day  of  her  lord's  atonement  would  never 
dawn  for  her. 

At  Berkeley  House  that  gossip  was  ever  most 
liked  which  dealt  unkindly  with  Mary.  Amongst 
other  things,  they  said  that  she  consoled  her- 
self for  William's  coldness  by  loving  Shrewsbury, 
the  notorious  "  King  of  Hearts,"  who  now  was 
Prime  Minister,  and  a  Duke.  But  the  tongues 
of  the  malicious  and  the  thoughtless  were 
suddenly  hushed  at  the  news  that  the  young 
Queen  was  a  victim  of  small-pox.  It  was  not 
so  much  that  all  bitterness  was  allayed,  as  that 
all  were  subdued  by  fear  at  the  presence  of  a 
deadly  enemy,  merciless  in  its  rapacity,  ruthless 
in  its  grim  surprises,  against  which  the  youngest, 
the  bravest,  the  highest,  the  greediest  of  life, 
possessed  no  charm. 

Anne  sent  a  lady  to  the  Palace,  begging  the 
King's  permission  to  visit  her  sister.  But  she 
had  heard  Mary's  voice  for  the  last  time  that 
day  at  Sion  House,  when  the  Queen,  in  the 
pride  of  glowing  health,  would  bend  the  sick 
woman  to  her  will.  Anne's  request  was  not 
granted.  The  Princess,  perhaps,  was  not  dis- 
pleased that  it  should  be  so,  for  the  dying 
woman  was  stricken  with  the  disease  in  its  most 
virulent  form.  To  see  her  was  to  court  death, 
and  the  mistress  of  Berkeley  House  was  not 
resigned  to  die. 

349 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Too  agonising  to  dwell  upon  was  Mary's  death. 
The  unhappy  creature,  one  mass  of  suppurating 
sores,  was  racked  with  such  tortures  as  melted 
to  pity  the  dour  soldier- King  so  blunt  of  feeling. 
William  moved  his  camp-bed  to  her  chamber, 
and  there  he  lay,  silent,  morose,  thunderous, 
a  grim  sentinel  at  the  threshold  of  eternity, 
until  the  sufferer  passed  the  portals  and  he  was 
alone. 


350 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

death  of  Queen  Mary  was  followed  by 
tumult  in  many  counties.  With  her  had 
vanished  whatever  shadow  of  apology  could  be 
offered  for  William's  sovereignty.  He  was  a 
stranger  in  the  land.  What  would  England  do  ? 

Happily  for  William,  the  swift  tragedy  of 
Mary's  death  revealed  Anne  once  more  as  the 
creature  of  ephemeral  emotions.  It  revealed,  too, 
the  shallowness  of  the  professions  of  repentance 
and  loyalty  she  had  conveyed  to  her  father. 

It  filled  her  with  alarm  for  the  fortunes  of  her 
family,  as  represented,  however,  by  herself,  that 
the  sceptre  had  passed  altogether  out  of  their 
hands,  and  that  the  House  of  Orange  now  ruled 
the  land.  In  the  absence  of  an  alliance  amongst 
the  great  families  in  favour  of  her  father,  the 
risings  in  the  country  were  destined  to  failure, 
merely  serving  to  clear  away  all  doubts  as  to  the 
security  of  William's  Throne,  and  to  increase 
uncertainty  as  to  the  identity  of  its  next 
occupant. 

In  her  perplexity  Anne  was  guided,  as  ever, 
351 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  self-interest.  The  King  might  marry  again, 
might  succeed  in  altering  the  succession.  Nothing 
would  perhaps  please  him  better  than  that  she 
should  retire  into  obscurity  and  permit  him  to 
hatch  what  schemes  he  pleased,  without  being 
obliged  to  consider  her  popularity  with  the 
people  or  the  influence  of  her  supporters  in 
Parliament.  But  if  the  design  of  establishing 
an  Orange  dynasty  in  England — which  could  not 
fail  to  have  entered  his  mind — was  ever  seriously 
entertained  by  William,  Anne  certainly  never 
dreamt  of  obliterating  herself  to  oblige  His 
Majesty.  On  the  contrary,  the  Princess  went  to 
Kensington  House  to  offer  her  condolences,  and 
the  King  received  her  with  unexpected  civility. 

According  to  Lewis  Jenkins,  the  faithful 
Welshman  who  has  left  behind  so  detailed  a 
diary  of  the  life  of  Gloucester,  the  Princess  Anne 
was  carried  in  a  sedan  chair  from  Campden  House 
to  Kensington  Palace.  She  was  at  this  time 
only  thirty  years  old,  but  was  already  so  com- 
pletely a  victim  of  gout  that  she  had  to  be 
borne  upstairs  into  the  audience  chamber. 

When  the  Princess,  in  her  mourning  robes, 
entered  the  presence  of  the  monarch  to  whom 
she  had  so  long  been  a  stranger,  each,  overcome 
by  the  pitiful  tragedy  but  just  enacted  beneath 
that  roof,  burst  into  tears. 

The  emotion  of  these  two  people  so  antagonistic 
352 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

by  temperament  suffuses  with  light  some  of  the 
deepest  springs  of  human  feeling.  Anne  brought 
back  to  William's  mind  the  years  gone  by,  when 
he  had  taken  from  St.  James's  Palace  a  young 
and  confiding  girl,  with  mind  unformed,  and 
heart  open  to  receive  the  impressions  he  would 
stamp  thereon.  And  it  had  been  the  business  of 
his  life  to  harden  that  gentle  heart,  to  uproot 
from  it  every  kindly  feeling  implanted  in  her 
English  home,  to  teach  her  to  scorn  her  father, 
and  to  hate  the  sister  who  had  so  weakly  lent 
herself  to  his  ambitions.  Mary  and  Anne  were 
in  early  life  linked  by  the  tenderest  of  all  ties, 
the  memory  of  a  mother  idealised  by  the  un- 
questioning love,  the  illimitable  imagination  of 
childhood.  Only  William  himself  knew  what  his 
share  had  been  in  destroying  that  gentle  tie,  and 
with  it  all  the  sweetness,  and  wisdom,  and  com- 
prehension, the  seedlings  of  which  die  somehow 
in  the  slaying  of  a  pure,  unselfish  love.  If 
William  of  Orange  wept  tears,  it  was  for  some- 
thing at  which  a  nobler  man  would  have  wept 
tears  of  blood. 

It  was  William's  kindness  that  unmanned  the 
Princess.  His  roughness  she  could  endure  with 
equanimity  ;  she  was  schooled  to  it.  But  gentle 
words  on  the  lips  of "  Calliban "  dissolved  her 
self-control.  And  in  an  access  of  self-pity  for 
all  she  had  suffered  at  his  hands,  and  through 

VOL.  i  353  A  A 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

him  at  her  sister's  ;  for  all  the  sweetness  of  which 
he  had  plundered  her  life,  her  voice  failed  her, 
and  she  gave  way  to  unrestrained  grief. 

The  King  and  Princess  were  closeted  together 
for  almost  an  hour.  And  the  first  fruits  of  the 
newly  established  peace  was  the  termination  of 
Marlborough's  disgrace.  Not  that  the  King  had 
modified  his  opinion  of  the  Earl.  To  the  end 
he  would  despise  the  general  who  had  deserted 
his  colours  in  the  field.  But  it  was  necessary  to 
yield  on  this  point  to  Anne.  If  when  he  had 
Mary's  assistance,  Anne  had  successfully  resisted 
his  dictation  in  this  matter,  she  was  little  likely 
to  surrender  now.  And  if  the  Marlboroughs 
could  not  be  got  rid  of,  the  only  alternative  was 
to  make  it  their  interest  to  support  his  Throne 
by  restoring  them  to  favour. 

The  period  immediately  following  this  re- 
conciliation wras  the  happiest  Anne  had  known 
since  the  Revolution.  Gloucester  continued  at 
Campden  House,  marching  and  counter-marching 
with  his  boy  battalion,  and  fighting  mimic  battles, 
in  which  hard  knocks  were  taken  and  given  by 
the  youthful  bloods  who,  in  the  excitement  of 
the  fight,  sometimes  visited  their  Royal  chief  with 
his  full  share  of  scars. 

These  were,  however,  the  lightest  of  his  punish- 
ments. The  boy  did  not  grow  stronger  as  the 
years  rolled  on.  His  mind  developed  rapidly. 

354 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

He  grew  strangely  precocious,  as  though  nature, 
having  set  but  a  narrow  span  to  his  days,  would 
make  his  life  in  some  sort  a  complete  miniature 
of  the  full  term  of  manhood.  He  was  but  five 
when  we  saw  him,  mounted  on  his  pony,  leading 
his  regiment  past  the  King  and  then  confounding 
His  Majesty  with  pert  curiosity.  But  his  petted 
and  pampered  youth  ended  early. 

Then  came  the  storm  and  stress  of  his  maturer 
years — storm  and  stress  at  six,  when  they  tried 
to  awaken  the  Royal  spirit  of  a  great  King  in 
a  baby  ! 

His  father  and  mother  put  their  wise  heads 
together  to  evolve  a  system  by  which  the  delicate 
child  could  be  made  a  lusty  lad  Own  Prince  of 
a  race  of  sea-kings.  The  poor  little  fellow  some- 
times could  not  walk  alone.  It  was  part  of  his 
infirmity  that  at  every  step  he  feared  to  fall. 
The  size  of  his  head  indicated  a  tendency  to 
water  on  the  brain.  A  healthy  child  of  five 
requires  careful  watching  and  restraint,  rather 
than  any  incentive  to  exercise.  That  Gloucester 
was  afraid  to  take  a  step  alone  might  have  warned 
his  parents  that  their  child  was  in  danger ;  that 
their  chief  concern  ought  to  be  not  to  prepare 
him  for  the  Throne,  but  to  save  his  life  if  salva- 
tion were  possible. 

Prince  George  was  indignant  that  a  son  of 
his  should  be  afraid  of  anything.  One  of  his  race 

355 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

had  never  known  fear.     The  boy  should  be  made 
to  overcome  himself.     Poor  little  Gloucester ! 

Behold  him  in  the  torture-chamber  with  the 
huge  blustering  Dane,  and  his  mother,  pale  with 
grief  and  apprehension,  but  determined  in  her 
folly !  The  little  Prince  is  ordered  to  march 
around  the  room  alone. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  for  a  hand,  just  one  hand  .  .  . 
a  finger  just  to  touch  mine,  mamma ! "  was  the 
petition  so  touchingly  expressed  by  the  girlish, 
trembling  lips. 

The  Princess  said  she  was  sure  he  could  walk 
if  he  would  but  try. 

The  child  was  silent.  He  thought  it  over. 
He  was  so  anxious  to  be  a  real  prince  ;  to  be 
afraid  of  nothing,  like  his  father ;  to  be  ready  to 
fight  all  the  world,  like  his  uncle  the  King.  And, 
stiffening  himself,  he  set  out  on  his  daring 
journey. 

Oh !  but  for  mamma's  gentle  hand  ...  a 
finger  even  !  The  room  was  swimming  round, 
ceiling  and  floor  were  meeting  to  crush  him. 

He  stood  stock-still,  trembling  with  fear. 

"  Walk  1 "  growled  the  Prince. 

But  he  could  not  move.  He  could  not  speak. 
He  was  tongue-tied  with  agony  at  this  terrible 
ordeal.  And  there  was  mamma's  beautiful  white 
hand.  With  it  touching  him,  ever  so  lightly,  he 
could  walk  anywhere,  even  up  or  downstairs. 

356 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Ah !  what  was  that  in  the  hand  she  withheld 
from  him,  something  half-hidden  in  the  folds  of 
her  dress  ?  It  was  a  birch.  A  birch  for  him,  the 
boy  who  would  one  day  be  King  of  Britain  !  He 
did  not  know  what  they  were  saying  now.  His 
poor  brain  was  in  a  whirl. 

The  Princess  handed  the  rod  to  the  Prince, 
and  the  giant  laid  it  mercilessly  across  the  little 
boy's  shoulders.  For  a  moment  he  was  dazed. 
He  seemed  about  to  fall.  But  the  gallant  little 
spirit  sustained  him.  He  would  be  a  king  some 
day.  He  would  be  worthy  of  his  brave  papa, 
of  his  gallant  uncle,  the  King.  He  had  to  suffer 
now  to  learn  the  Royal  trade. 

And  Anne,  one  prays,  turned  away  her  face, 
and  pressed  her  fingers  upon  her  ears  to  shut 
out  the  barbarous  spectacle.  Swish !  Swish ! 
Swish  1  ...  The  victory  was  gained.  George 
of  Denmark  had  won.  .  .  .  His  little  boy 
staggered  across  the  floor,  and  never  again 
would  ask  for  a  helping  hand. 

But  dearly  was  the  victory  purchased. 
Gloucester  had  won  his  first  battle,  and  inflicted 
on  his  mother  her  life's  bitterest  defeat.  In 
making  a  man  of  him  with  the  rod  they  were 
killing  him. 

The  hardening  process  by  which  a  delicate 
child  was  to  be  transformed  into  a  seasoned 
veteran  was  not  without  its  comedy.  The  boy, 

357 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

during  one  of  his  frequent  illnesses,  received  a 
present  from  Mrs.  Buss,  a  member  of  his 
mother's  household,  which  was  deemed  a  gross 
outrage  upon  his  dignity.  It  was  a  martial  toy, 
representing  Louis  of  Baden  fighting  the  Turks. 
In  the  guard-room  at  Campden  House  the 
soldiery  roared  with  laughter.  Toys  for  their 
chief !  They  who  fought  like  Mohawks  amongst 
themselves  and,  'sdeath,  drew  blood  !  They  who 
entered  the  houses  of  gentle  and  simple  between 
Kensington  and  London  and  took  what  they 
pleased,  just  as  though  they  were  let  loose  to 
live  in  an  enemy's  country ! 

Gloucester  himself,  colonel  of  the  dare-devils, 
fumed  at  the  slight  put  upon  his  honour.  He 
ordered  his  fellows  to  arrest  the  messenger. 
The  messenger  had,  however,  fled,  having  got 
wind  of  the  commotion.  After  him,  beauties, 
or  the  Prince  will  himself  out  of  bed  and  pursue 
the  varlet  to  the  ample  skirts  of  the  misguided 
Buss !  If  he  resists,  run  him  through  !  Spit 
him !  And  if  Gloucester's  Own  once  scent 
blood,  Buss  herself  would  do  well  to  pray  for 
that  mercy  in  eternity  which  she  need  no  more 
look  for  on  earth. 

The  unfortunate  messenger  was  caught,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  and  water  was  thrown  upon  him 
until  he  was  half  drowned.  Then,  in  plight  as 
miserable  as  ever  befell  one  who  had  set  out  to 

358 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

do  a  kindly  errand,  he  was  taken  before  the  sick 
Prince,  who  was  pleased  to  approve  of  all  that 
had  been  done.  Honour  was  satisfied.  Let 
Buss  remember  for  the  future  her  manners. 

If  she  wanted  satisfaction  for  what  had 
happened,  she  knew  where  he  might  be  found. 
The  Duke  of  Gloucester  was  always  at  Campden 
House,  and  ready  to  draw  upon  any  gentleman 
who  might  care  to  take  up  the  quarrel. 

All  of  which  was  very  gratifying  to  George  as 
evidence  of  the  growth  of  a  right  martial  spirit. 
The  martial  spirit  was  also  manifested  in  a 
kindred  fashion  which  induced  the  Princess, 
however,  to  fear  that  her  son  needed  the  curb 
rather  than  the  spur.  His  Royal  Highness 
found  a  little  very  mild  swearing  helpful  in  the 
management  of  his  affairs.  It  put  heart  into 
the  regiment  when,  worn  out  with  war's  alarms, 
sport  flagged.  It  added  many  inches  to  his 
height  when  he  visited  the  stables.  Even  his 
Shetland  pony  seemed  to  swell  beneath  him  to 
the  swift  and  splendid  proportions  of  an  Arab 
stallion  as  he  led  the  cavalcade  with  a  ringing 
expletive. 

The  Princess's  reproofs  may  not  have  cured 
His  Highness  of  a  habit  which,  in  his  own 
judgment,  so  enormously  enhanced  his  dignity  ; 
but  they  taught  him  discretion  in  his  mother's 
presence,  lest  the  retainers,  who  excelled  in 

359 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

language  unfit  for  polite  ears,  might  be  dismissed 
for  their  services  to  his  vocabulary. 

The  softer  feelings  which  moved  the  King  to 
civility  towards  Anne  in  the  early  days  of  his 
bereavement  could  not  long  sway  such  a  nature 
as  his.  His  temperament,  his  drinking  habits, 
his  cares,  his  feeble  health,  the  brutalising  in- 
fluence of  incessant  war,  always  disappointing 
in  its  results,  all  forbade  the  hope  that  mellowing 
time  and  trial  would  ever  alter  William. 

When  the  King  was  absent  from  England,  as 
was  the  case  for  long  periods,  Anne  enjoyed  no 
political  authority,  but  at  such  times  she  was  the 
first  personage  in  the  realm.  To  the  Princess 
this  dignity  was  very  sweet,  nor  was  William's 
bearing  on  his  return  always  of  a  nature  to 
reconcile  her  to  the  change.  When  she  attended 
his  receptions  during  the  winter  of  1695  she 
was  treated  as  the  wife  of  an  ordinary  citizen. 

An  atonement,  however,  which  more  than 
compensated  Anne  for  these  slights  was  soon 
made  by  the  King.  His  Majesty  selected 
Gloucester  for  a  vacant  Garter.  They  dare  not 
make  him  Prince  of  Wales.  But  a  Garter  was 
almost  as  good.  No  boy  of  six,  save  one  born 
to  be  a  king,  could  wear  so  proud  a  decoration. 

At  the  installation  ceremony  he  was  worthy  of 
his  new  manhood.  He  had  learned  the  lesson 
of  the  birch.  He  was  afraid  of  nothing.  As  the 

360 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Marquis  of  Normanby — the  Earl  of  Mulgrave 
of  her  father's  Court — said  to  Anne,  he  con- 
ducted himself  as  if  thirty  years  had  been  added 
to  his  age.  He  was  not  even  elated  when  the 
King  buckled  on  the  Garter  with  his  own  hands. 
He  wore  his  Star  as  though  he  had  Orders  from 
all  the  Courts  of  the  Continent  in  his  dressing- 
case  or  somewhere. 

Nor  was  this  honour  conferred  on  her  son  the 
only  pleasure  that  William  afforded  Anne.  She 
was  given  the  use  of  St.  James's  Palace  and  of 
Windsor  Castle,  and  Gloucester  had  all  the 
cannon  and  soldiers  that  his  warlike  little  heart 
could  desire.  Into  a  statesman  and  diplomatist 
he  grew,  as  well  as  into  a  soldier.  He  was  only 
seven  when  he  made  a  speech  to  his  parents  on 
their  birthday,  wishing  them  "  unity,  peace,  and 
concord,"  blessings  which  he  naively  prayed 
might  remain  with  them,  "  not  for  a  time,  but 
for  ever."  When  his  devoted  servant,  Lewis 
Jenkins,  praised  him  for  turning  so  neat  a 
compliment,  the  Prince  administered  a  crushing 
rebuke : 

"  It  was  no  compliment,  Lewis ;  it  was 
sincere." 

The  time  was  now  at  hand  when  William  was 
to  place  on  record  an  admirable  example  of  the 
code  of  honour  to  which  he  subscribed.  In 
September  1697  His  Majesty  and  the  King  of 

361 


France  entered  into  the  peace  of  Ryswick. 
Louis  recognised  the  Prince  of  Orange  as  King 
of  England.  But,  as  some  compensation  to  the 
exiles  at  St.  Germains,  a  secret  article  provided 
that  the  succession  should  be  secured  by  William 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  on  the  condition  that 
James  made  no  further  attempt  to  regain  the 
Throne  by  force  of  arms.  There  was  also  an 
understanding  that  Mary  Beatrice  should  be 
paid  her  dower  of  fifty  thousand  a  year,  as  stipu- 
lated in  her  marriage  treaty,  just  as  though  her 
husband  were  really  dead. 

When  the  squadrons  of  France  rode  the  tide, 
watching  for  a  clear  course  to  the  English  shore, 
and  French  troops  mustered  on  the  coast  ready 
for  the  invasion  of  the  island,  King  James  and 
his  Queen  could  only  look  forward  to  returning 
to  their  kingdom  over  her  humbled  flag,  her 
routed  forces.  But  now  the  hero  of  the  Revolu- 
tion was  on  their  side.  He  who  had  driven 
them  forth  was  pledged  to  make  restitution 
to  their  son.  It  was  no  longer  an  affair  of 
arms.  Justice  was  to  have  a  tardy  triumph 
through  diplomacy. 

With  spies  passing  constantly  between  the  two 
countries,  Anne  must  have  received  some  vague 
hint  that  the  peace  of  Ryswick  had  raised  the 
drooping  spirits  of  the  band  of  exiles  surrounding 
the  Royal  Family  at  St.  Germains.  But  William 

362 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

had  in  contemplation  a  scheme  still  more  daring, 
a  scheme  which,  after  the  lapse  of  centuries,  fills 
one  with  amazement  by  reason  of  its  reckless 
contempt  for  the  likes  or  dislikes  of  the  English. 
He  offered  to  adopt  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

The  terms  of  William's  offer,  like  so  many 
other  vital  matters  in  these  long  decades  of  deceit 
and  treachery,  are  somewhat  uncertain.  His 
original  idea  was  doubtless  to  educate  the  Prince 
as  a  Protestant.  But  not  for  a  thousand  king- 
doms would  the  Prince's  parents  hear  of  such  a 
bargain.  It  is  asserted,  however,  that  William 
did  not  insist  upon  Protestantism,  no  small  con- 
cession under  any  circumstances,  but  extraordinary 
in  its  generosity  when  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
babe  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  smuggled 
into  St.  James's  Palace  in  a  warming  pan  ! 

England  might  have  been  made  to  ring  with 
this  proposal.  But  St.  Germains  was  blind  to 
the  splendour  of  the  opportunity  created  by  its 
deadliest  enemy  for  undoing  all  that  he  had  done. 
Mary  Beatrice  was  too  loving  a  wife  to  be  a  good 
diplomatist.  She  thought  only  of  her  husband's 
wrongs,  and,  wedded  to  truth  and  justice,  could 
not  but  believe  in  their  ultimate  triumph. 

"  I  would  rather,"  said  Mary,  when  the  project 
was  communicated  to  her,  "  see  my  son  dead  at 
my  feet  than  consent  to  his  being  a  party  to  his 
father's  injuries." 

363 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

King  James  dare  not  fly  in  the  face  of  such 
devotion.  Perhaps  he  had  not  the  strength  of 
purpose  necessary  to  do  so.  The  woman  who 
spoke  thus  had  given  him  the  truest  love  a  wife 
could  give,  had  travelled  uncomplainingly  with 
him  the  roughest  road  a  young  and  delicately 
bred  woman  could  travel.  Years  younger  than 
her  lord,  she  still  placed  him  high  above  her 
children,  great  as  was  the  affection  with  which 
she  cherished  them.  She  was  not  merely  a 
Jacobite :  she  was  a  Queen  enamoured  of  the 
King,  and  the  man  to  her  was  greater  than  the 
cause.  Yet  who  can  unravel  the  motives  of 
the  purest  heart  ?  Mary  Beatrice,  in  standing 
forth  as  the  champion  of  her  husband's  rights, 
may  not  have  been  unmoved  by  fears  for  the 
life  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  should  he  find  him- 
self alone  in  William's  hands.  Such  fears  might 
readily  be  pardoned  a  mother,  for  William's 
reputation  for  humanity  did  not  rank  high.  But 
the  Prince  of  Wales  would  have  been  as  safe  in 
London  as  in  Paris.  In  Parliament,  the  Army, 
the  Navy,  his  friends  were  numerous  ;  in  the 
Court  itself  they  were  influential.  To  receive 
the  boy  at  all  would  have  been  to  confess  that 
grievous  wrong  had  been  done  his  father  and 
mother  in  aspersing  his  birth.  To  injure  him 
would  have  been  a  crime  almost  certain  to  invite 
swift  vengeance.  But  the  best  guarantee  of  the 

364 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

Prince's  safety  would  have  been  found  in  the  fact 
that  William's  first  concern  was  his  Throne,  and 
that  he  cared  little  who  should  succeed  him. 

Mary  Beatrice,  in  maintaining  her  husband's 
rights  at  the  expense  of  her  son's  prospects,  was 
unconsciously  Anne's  best  ally.  In  a  little  while 
she  had  cause  to  repent  her  haste.  Her  dower, 
upon  which  she  and  the  King  had  counted  to 
relieve  them  from  many  embarrassments  and 
aid  the  cause,  remained  unpaid.  Parliament 
voted  the  money.  But  a  farthing  of  it  never 
escaped  from  His  Majesty's  custody  to  the  un- 
fortunate lady  to  whom  it  was  due.  It  was  a 
time  when  gold  was  the  talisman  which  turned 
foes  into  friends ;  before  it  the  most  formidable 
gates  swung  open,  and  frowning  ramparts 
crumbled  to  dust.  Fifty  thousand  a  year  from 
the  British  Treasury  was  a  source  of  strength 
which  William  would  not  willingly  see  pass  into 
the  hands  of  his  enemies,  in  deference  to  any 
inconvenient  law  of  justice.  He  was  a  law  unto 
himself,  and  retained  the  money. 

Anne  likewise  was  an  interested  spectator  of 
William's  financial  policy  in  regard  to  other 
people's  money.  Parliament  voted  another  fifty 
thousand  pounds  a  year  for  an  establishment  for 
the  young  Duke  of  Gloucester,  the  time  having 
come  for  taking  his  education  out  of  the  hands 
of  ladies,  and  entrusting  it  to  preceptors  whose 

365 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

united  wisdom  might  mould  the  weakling  to 
the  right  Royal  type.  The  King  was  allowed 
the  fullest  discretion  as  to  the  disbursement  of 
the  money,  and  he  exercised  it  to  such  purpose 
that  he  saved  about  thirty-five  thousand  a  year 
from  the  bounty  of  the  country. 

Marlborough,  much  to  Anne's  satisfaction, 
was  appointed  chief  of  Gloucester's  new  house- 
hold. He  was  also  included  in  the  array  of 
Lords  Justices  who  governed  the  kingdom  in  the 
absence  of  the  King.  There  is  a  story  to  the 
effect  that  when  Marlborough  attended  Court 
to  kiss  hands  on  his  promotion,  His  Majesty  said  : 
"  Make  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  like  yourself, 
and  I  desire  no  more." 

The  King  was  perhaps  indulging  his  taste  for 
sarcasm  at  the  expense  of  the  silken  Earl.  He 
well  knew  that  if  Gloucester's  new  governor  had 
been  judged  by  the  standard  applied  only  recently 
to  gentlemen  of  less  importance,  politics  would 
have  done  with  him  for  ever. 

Scarcely  had  the  dignity  of  a  household  of  his 
own  been  conferred  upon  Gloucester  when  hope 
and  disappointment  again  came  to  Anne.  Again 
she  was  a  mother,  and  once  again  the  promise 
of  new  joy  was  turned  to  mourning.  While 
Gloucester  played  with  his  juvenile  guardsmen 
the  new-born  babe  was  taken  away,  and  another 
was  added  to  the  array  of  tiny  coffins  where 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

slept  the  family  of  the  Princess  Anne.  Gloucester 
alone  remained,  and  his  mother  was  more  than 
ever  the  Bride  of  Death. 

The  preceptors  of  the  hapless  Gloucester 
spared  neither  themselves  nor  the  boy  in  their 
zeal  to  make  him,  as  they  conceived  it,  worthy 
of  the  august  destiny  to  which  he  was  born. 
By  orders  of  the  Ministry,  he  was  examined 
frequently,  that  Parliament  might  be  assured  it 
was  receiving  ample  return  for  its  money.  His 
mother's  friend,  the  Marquis  of  Normanby,  on 
one  occasion  performed  this  duty,  and  seems  to 
have  reported  that  the  boy  was  a  prodigy  of 
learning. 

The  accomplished  cynic  might  have  been 
better  pleased  had  the  Royal  student  betrayed 
more  of  boyish  ignorance.  The  little  fellow 
seems  to  have  been  a  miniature  James  I., 
crammed  full  of  abstract  knowledge,  with  every 
prospect  of  growing  into  such  a  pedant  as  his 
great-grandfather.  But  times  had  changed 
sadly  since  the  days  of  the  second  Charles. 
And  if  Normanby  had  not  changed,  that  was 
sufficient  reason  why  he  should  take  the  Prince 
and  his  culture  as  he  found  them,  and,  making 
the  best  of  both,  save  himself  the  trouble  of  a 
quarrel  with  His  Highness's  preceptors. 

Windsor  was  the  boy's  home  from  the  time 
that  he  was  given  an  establishment  of  his  own, 

367 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

and  his  parents  spent  their  days  between  the 
Castle  and  St.  James's,  watching  with  pride  and 
joy  their  boy's  eager  advance  in  all  that  became 
a  Scion  of  the  Blood. 

The  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  Castle  and 
lawns  and  woodlands  for  the  eleventh  birthday 
of  the  Princeling,  who  one  day  would  be  master 
of  the  hoary  stronghold.  His  father  and  mother 
were  there  watching  their  son  ride  bravely  along 
the  line  of  his  regiment  of  young  dare-devils, 
sons  of  the  noblest  families  in  the  land,  and 
every  one  of  them  proud  of  this  chief,  only  just 
eleven  years  old,  who  was  able  to  fight  and 
swear  like  an  old  war-dog  of  Flanders  ;  and  with 
his  sword  unbuckled  argue  with  a  bishop.  The 
cannon  boomed,  the  regiment  cheered,  the 
guards  saluted ;  the  Duke  returned  the  compli- 
ment, tingling  with  pride,  and  dying  to  prove 
his  mettle  on  a  sterner  field. 

Anne's  eyes  were  dim  with  joy.  That  palfrey 
pirouetting  beneath  its  feather-weight  rider 
carried  her  heaven  !  She  wished  it  would  stop 
its  capering,  and  behave  with  less  spirit  and 
more  sobriety.  But  Gloucester's  nimble  heel, 
daintily  spurred,  compelled  a  readier  response 
than  a  mother's  prayer. 

The  review  was  followed  by  a  banquet. 
Gloucester  had  to  do  the  honours,  and  if  he  was 
tired,  and  longed  for  rest,  nobody  knew.  He 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

was  a  soldier,  and  his  place  was  at  the  board  to 
cheer  the  company  come  to  do  him  honour. 
But  glad  was  he  when  the  day  of  rejoicing 
melted  into  twilight,  and  then  into  darkness. 
The  fireworks  shot  gaily  into  the  sky.  His 
eyelids  were  heavy,  but  he  watched  them  all, 
praised  the  master  of  the  revels,  jested  with  his 
companions,  and  to  his  anxious  mother  played 
the  cavalier.  But  when  William  of  Gloucester's 
head  touched  the  pillow,  weary  though  he  was, 
sleep  eluded  him,  and  he  wondered,  perhaps, 
with  great  perplexity,  if  a  prince's  trade  were 
worth  the  learning,  and  if  those  who  taught  it 
were  always  masters  of  the  craft. 

All  through  the  years  of  his  childhood  Anne's 
last  thoughts  at  night,  her  first  on  waking,  were 
of  her  boy.  As  birthday  after  birthday  came 
and  went,  and  she  might  at  last  cast  her  thoughts 
forward  but  a  few  years  to  see  him  really  grown 
to  youth,  she  began  to  banish  doubt,  and  her 
prayers  that  he  might  be  spared  to  her  were 
turned  to  prayers  of  gratitude  that  he  had  been 
spared.  A  few  summers  more  and  he  would  be 
a  man. 

While  Gloucester  lay  awake  pondering  on  the 
strange  ways  of  a  world  where  a  prince  must  be 
birched  into  walking,  though  the  effort  kills  him, 
and  his  head  must  be  crammed  with  the  dry-as- 
dust  lore  of  word-spinning  pedants,  where  he 

VOL.    I  369  B  B 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

must  swear  to  please  the  soldiers,  and  pull  a  long 
face  to  please  the  prelates,  neither  did  his  mother 
sleep  if  she  shared  the  mysterious,  the  weird  gift, 
which  is  roused  to  activity  only  when  danger 
overshadows  a  loved  one. 

The  next  day  the  boy  was  ill. 

Message  of  dread  import !  Anne  flew  to  his 
bedside.  For  years  she  had  feared  that  summons. 
A  hurried  foot  in  the  gallery  was  wont  to  set  her 
heart  leaping  to  her  mouth  lest  it  should  be  the 
dreaded  call.  Often  had  she  listened  in  the  hours 
of  darkness  for  panic-stricken  cries  from  the  Duke's 
apartments  ;  and  if  they  did  not  come  as  she 
listened,  a  warning  voice  whispered  that  come 
the  alarm  would  when  she  was  most  unready. 
Now  it  had  come  amidst  the  glories  of  Windsor. 

Consternation  was  imprinted  on  every  counten- 
ance. Was  this  the  end  ?  Was  it  for  this  the 
cannon  had  roared  but  yesterday,  that  the  bells 
had  rung,  and  the  soldiers  cheered  their  Prince  ? 

The  Windsor  doctor  arrived,  and  resorted  to 
the  cure  for  every  ill.  He  bled  the  boy.  Mean- 
while Dr.  Radcliffe  was  summoned  from  London. 
He  was  the  first  of  his  profession,  and  a  high 
Tory,  with  little  love  for  princes  or  princesses 
who  owed  their  dignities  to  the  Revolution. 
Radcliffe  had  recently  offended  Anne  by  declining 
to  hasten  to  St.  James's  Palace  when  she  imagined 
she  needed  his  presence.  "  Tell  Her  Highness," 

370 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

said  Radcliffe,  "  nothing  ails  her  but  the  vapours." 
For  this  bluntness  he  lost  his  appointment  as  one 
of  the  Royal  physicians,  a  punishment  which 
RadclifFe's  Toryism  enabled  him  to  endure  with 
resignation.  The  call  to  Gloucester's  side  he 
could  not,  however,  disobey.  Humanity  forbade 
it.  Finding  on  his  arrival,  however,  that  the 
boy  had  already  been  bled,  he  declared  that 
they  had  destroyed  the  Prince. 

"  You  may  finish  him,"  he  declared ;  "  I  will 
not  prescribe." 

Never  did  knowledge  and  skill  utter  words 
more  cruel.  On  the  great  man's  verdict  the 
Princess  hung  as  though  he  held  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand  the  life  of  her  child,  and  that  it  was 
his  to  give  or  to  withhold.  If  only  he  would 
take  his  place  by  the  bedside  and  join  in  the 
battle  for  a  priceless  life  !  What  matter  that  in 
the  first  assault  of  the  enemy  the  citadel  had  been 
shaken  1  The  last  trenches  remained  for  the  grim 
defence  of  unyielding  despair.  But  Radcliffe 
was  hard  as  flint.  He  would  do  nothing,  could 
do  nothing.  And  he  turned  his  back  upon  the 
Castle,  now  silent  and  grey  and  desolate,  though 
the  sun  shone  as  brightly  as  when,  a  few  hours 
before,  the  steel  clashed  above  the  ranks  of 
Gloucester's  Own,  and  banners  fluttered  bravely 
from  every  battlement. 

Why  did  not  Anne  fall  on  her  knees  before 
371 


him  and  overcome  him  with  her  tears  ?  Why 
did  not  the  courtiers  seize  him  by  main  force  and 
impress  him  into  the  service  of  their  dying 
master?  But  as  though  the  tragedy  were  in- 
evitable, they  let  him  go,  and  Anne,  convinced 
perhaps  that  the  curse  which  haunted  her  house 
had  at  last  found  out  her  darling,  and  that 
escape  from  it  was  impossible,  acquiesced. 

Numbed  with  fear,  the  Princess  watched  by  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  boy.  Despair  had  seized 
her.  She  was  beaten  to  the  dust.  Child  had 
followed  child  to  the  tomb.  Gloucester,  too, 
would  be  there  to  receive  the  dust  of  his  mother. 
She  dared  not  pray  for  him.  The  strength  to 
pray  was  not  left  her.  The  courtiers  and  ladies 
wondered  at  her  calm,  when  they  looked  for  a 
frenzy  of  grief  and  torrent  of  lamentation.  But 
they  did  not  understand.  How  could  she  grieve, 
how  could  she  pray  ?  To  beg  that  this  young 
life  might  be  spared  would  be  to  ask  Heaven 
to  abet  her  plans  for  robbing  her  brother  of  his 
inheritance.  She  had  heard  of  the  vows  of 
mediaeval  days  when,  in  return  for  some  favour, 
the  suppliant  promised  a  sacrifice  to  Heaven. 
Would  she  now  give  up  her  hopes  of  the  Crown 
of  England  for  herself  and  for  this  boy,  if  only 
he  were  spared  to  her  ?  But  even  here,  while 
death  toyed  with  her  son,  she  would  not  relent. 
She  was  subdued  but  unconquered. 

372 


From  a  mrzzutliit  ••iiiiraviiiK  by  .1.  Smith,  aftfr  a  imintliiK  by  Sir  Coilfrey  Kiu-llcr. 
WILLIAM,    DUKE   OF   GLOUCESTER,    K.G 


p.  372. 


QUEEN  ANNE  AND  HER  COURT 

For  some  days  he  lingered.  Marlborough 
was  summoned,  but  an  enemy  was  in  possession 
whom  the  great  general  could  not  dislodge,  and 
he  arrived  only  to  behold  the  child-soldier's  wild 
battle  for  life  and  his  weary  surrender.  .  .  . 
Gloucester's  breath  came  thick  and  short.  His 
little  bosom  heaved  with  violent  gasps.  The 
sweet  eyes  that  were  his  mother's  heaven  be- 
came dull  and  glazed,  as  the  eyes  of  the  soul 
turned  towards  another  world.  The  cold  sweat 
stood  in  beads  upon  the  white  brow  his  mother 
loved  to  kiss.  A  cry  arose  from  the  woman's 
bursting  heart.  He  was  slipping  past  her.  Be- 
tween him  and  her  some  strange,  cold,  unseen 
presence  intervened  .  .  .  Idolised  child,  come 
back  !  Come  back  !  The  tomb  is  full  of  your 
kindred,  while  your  mother  is  desolate  !  Perish 
the  Crown  1  Perish  the  Kingdom  I  Perish 
honours,  wealth,  rank,  favourites,  pleasure,  pride  I 
Dear  God  above,  but  leave  the  woman  her  child  ! 

But  God  was  deaf.  The  white  brow  turned  to 
marble.  The  eyes  grew  fixed.  The  gentle  lips 
would  speak  no  more  precious  tags  of  wisdom  to 
make  his  mother  smile.  Anne  might  some  day 
be  Queen  of  England,  but  never  a  child  of  hers 
would  bear  the  gallant  name  of  Prince  of  Wales. 


373 


PRINTED  BY 

HAZELL,   WATSON   AND  VINEY,    LD. 
LONDON   AND  AYLESBURY. 


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